Four Years
by caitythelioness
Summary: Every four years. 1461 days. Every four years he would return. : S1, Pre Route666, AUish. Deancentric. Complete. :
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Supernatural! How uncool! I think I might get someone to invest in a t-shirt for me, at least! So…yes. All of the creative genius belongs to Eric Kripke, who I would like to thank for giving all us fanfictioners some fun characters and storylines to play around with. Kudos, Kripke! **

**Author's Note: Yessss! Supernatural! I love this show unequivocally (except perhaps for House). Just a few notes before we begin, readers. This story is AU-ish and definitely set before Route666. And coming to you un-beta-d (how on earth do you spell that?) so even though I have proofed and spell checked, may be a few minor errors. Let me know and will change ASAP! And, we are a few thousand episodes behind in Australia which all affects how my little brain spins in its wheel. So anyway, hopefully you will enjoy and review (if you can be fagged!). **

**Four Years**

**Chapter One**

Every four years. 1461 days. Every four years he would return. The ranger, the rugged explorer, the wandering adventurer – every four years he would come home.

Yet here Dean Winchester sat, in the driver's seat of his car, uncharacteristic nerves making him the grip the steering wheel tightly.

"You have to go in there." His brother Sam. His little brother, pointing out, as little brothers do, the fact that he was blissfully ignoring.

"I know."

Sam cocked his head a little – his feign of mental processing. "So…just go in there."

Dean tilted his face so he could fix him with a 'you-aren't-helping' stare. "Dude, it's not that simple."

"Of course it is, you open the car door - "

"Ok, dude, slightly more complicated than that."

"But all you have to do is get out - "

"I know, I know what I have to - "

"So I don't see what's - "

"Like I said, it's a little more complex - "

"But I don't understand, all you have to do is - "

"Ok, fine, dude! I'm leaving. Happy!" Dean shut the car door hard, huffily pulling the bottom of his leather jacket straight and shrugging his shoulders to adjust the sit, muttering under his breath.

Dust made little clouds at his feet as he walked across the car park, the insipid light emanating from the small diner casting his shadow as a lonesome cowboy. Passing another car, Dean spied a reflection of himself in one of the windows – tipping himself a wink to boost his lagging confidence – the absence of that itself enough to be a worry.

Pushing open the diner doors, the same smell rushed to greet him. The same smell, time after time. It was busy, but not too busy – a Saturday night. A group of four sat in the corner, two guys and two girls, around Dean's own age. Two had their backs to him, a guy and a girl. From the way they were sitting he guessed just married – the girl was leaning into her husband and he had his arm stretched protectively along the seat. The other two were facing the door, directly in Dean's line of sight. The second guy looked like a square; he had glasses and short dark hair and while that didn't make him altogether that unhandsome, he reminded Dean a little too much of his geeky brother. The girl seated next to him was pretty. She had dark blonde hair and brown eyes and though she wasn't very skinny she had a happy face and laughing eyes.

As Dean watched, the guy facing him threw the girl an admiring look – she met his eyes but looked away quickly, as if embarrassed by his affection. Her eyes roved the room to find a place to consolidate her discomfort, and her eyes travelled over Dean. For a moment they stared outright, Dean feeling very obvious against his surroundings. Then a strange look flitted across her face and the moment passed, the conversation at the table lured the girl back in and Dean looked at the floor.

Taking a deep breath and savouring the food-scented air, Dean turned and went out through the doors again. So, maybe his courage failed him? No big deal. Well, maybe it was a big deal, but Dean wasn't thinking of that. He was trying to think of what he was going to say to Sam so he wouldn't get ribbed for the rest of his life.

Sighing and rubbing a harassed hand through his hair, Dean pushed his hands into his jacket and stepped off the curb, crossing the dirt once more. Behind him, the doors swung open, admitting another patron into the cool night air.

"It's been awhile Dean."

Dean turned, halfway across the car park. She stepped out of the pool of light, her hair fluttering in the breeze behind her. Hie nerves left him and he felt his confident personality return, but his heart rate doubled and he smiled. He really had missed her. She was just like he remembered; her sharp but warm-hearted eyes, the cheeky smile, the way she fiddled with her clothes because she was self-conscious about her figure. She looked familiar and comfortable, although somewhat more drawn then Dean recalled.

"Charlotte." He spoke the name with something akin to relief. He wasn't sure if she had even seen him – but even if she hadn't and he had had to leave town without speaking to her and only catching sight of her once, it would have been good to see her.

She frowned. "Dean Michael Winchester. How many times have I told you, I grew out of that when I was seven."

Dean grimaced at the sound of his full name. Nobody ever called him that except his Dad. "Me too. I guess we're even now."

"I guess we are."

"Sorry I interrupted your dinner."

This time she smiled, taking in his appearance. He looked older, a few more scars on his handsome face. "I'm not."

He laughed. "That guy looked familiar. Did he go to the same school as us?"

Charlotte nodded. "Luke."

Dean made a face. "Luke. The captain of the chess club, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Being the top of our biology class doesn't mean he was captain nerd of the universe."

"He was top of biology? I thought you were top of biology."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Shows how much you pay attention."

Dean smiled cheekily. "You'd be surprised at what I payed attention to."

He took a few steps forward and she walked forward to greet him. Without breaking eye contact he pulled her into a hug and when they pulled apart he lowered his face to hers. She didn't blink or draw away but just stared docilely back at him, so he leaned in and kissed her.

Charlotte refused to acknowledge her madly beating heart and despite herself pulled him closer. She refused also to let the tears that threatened warmly behind her eyelids to break their barriers and spill down her face. She hated this; she was smart and she knew she shouldn't let him do this. She knew he shouldn't be allowed to come and go in and out of her life whenever he pleased; she hated him for what he did to her, how every time he broke her heart…but every four years, when he came back and kissed her, she forgave him everything.

But then she reminded herself that this was fun and she was involved in this by choice, and she tried to tame the surging guilt that had suddenly roared up inside of her. But as he pulled away to draw breath there was a tenderness in his eyes that made her forget her shame and sadness, and as he folded her into his arms a second time she thought that no one did ever quite hug her the way that he did.

Dean didn't really know what attracted him to Charlie. If he saw her walking down the street he wouldn't whistle or toot his horn. But there was something insatiable about her – she was what Sam called atypical. Dean guessed that made her different and she was: beautiful in her own way, smart and sexy and with a tongue almost as sharp as his.

His head was resting on top of hers and as he breathed in, the smell of her hair circled around in his nose. It had been a long time since he had held anyone. The silence spiralled until Dean started to feel uncomfortable with his vulnerability. Fortunately, she knew how he would feel and drew away.

"I assume that that is just an innovative new way for you to meet chicks but also check if they are being possessed by evil spirits?"

Dean coughed. "Of course. Flirtatious yet fun. And I can't afford to take any chances in my position."

"I assume you mean the position you want to be in later." She cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, positions are negotiable. Depending on your preferred rate of pay."

She snorted. "Don't tell me you are going to pawn your car."

Dean looked horrified. "How dare you suggest I sell my first born!"

Charlie laughed. "Shut up."

Dean grinned, feeling contented. "Come on, let's go."

Charlie frowned. "Not back to my place you're not. Mum's staying with me for awhile and you know what she did last time."

Dean looked thoughtful, but then winked and caught her hand, pulling her towards the car. "Well I guess we will just go where my baby takes us."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I so don't own anything to do with Supernatural! But imagine the possibilities if I did! Somehow Dean would spend most episodes shirtless…weird…**

**Enjoy and please review!**

**Chapter Two**

Sam sat in the front seat, fiddling with the knobs on the car's radio. Dean had set all the stations to thins like 101.9FM – Rrrreal Rrrrock! He sighed as he tried to find something that didn't involve muscle cars and girls in short skirts. Finally he settled on ACDC (the best he could tolerate) and leaned back in his seat to stare broodingly but patiently out of the windscreen, waiting for his brother.

He had met Charlie only twice, the last time being when Dean had come back four years earlier. He had been interested in finding out who had captured his brother's affections and was dutifully surprised when they had actually met. She had a completely different personality and looks to what his brother usually went for. Still, he knew better than to talk about her to Dean, who refused steadfastly to discuss her. He had broken that unspoken rule only once, and it didn't go well.

_They had been on the main highway to Minnesota - it was a clear day with bright sunshine, but the wind had a deep chill. Dean was driving, his eyes focused on the road in front of them. Sam sat staring glumly out the window. He counted the white lines on the road as they flew by…fifty, sixty, seventy – until the sudden urge to speak took a hold of him. _

"_How did you meet her?" _

_Dean looked over at Sam, blinking in the light. "How did I meet who, college boy?" _

"_Charlie." _

_Dean's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "What?" There was no mistaking the surprise in his voice._

_Sam scrutinized his brother's face. "You said her name last night in your sleep."_

_Dean looked up, a sceptical expression on his face. "I did not." _

"_You did too!" _

_Dean glanced at the road, and then at his brother. "Dude, I didn't." _

_The disbelief in Sam's voice made it higher than usual. "You did! How would you know, if you were asleep?" _

"_Dude, I don't do that sort of stuff." Dean looked amused. _

_Sam frowned. "What sort of stuff?" _

_Dean shrugged, drumming his fingers on the wheel. "Calling out people's names and…" he paused, making a face. "Carrying around inner burdens. You know, all that heavy emotional stuff." _

"_All that heavy emotional stuff," Sam repeated, shaking his head in disbelief and resuming staring out the window. _

"_What?" Dean looked over at his brother's incredulous face. _

"_Nothing." Sam bit his lip like he did when he was holding in something in. Dean had seen him do that many a time to their father. _

_Then he realised what Sam was implying and sighed. "Dude, I have emotions." _

"_Yeah, right." Sam shook his head, knowing that this conversation was useless. _

_Dean exhaled exasperatedly. "I do." _

"_Mmmm." His brother made a non-committal sound in his throat, and Dean felt a sudden flash of anger. _

"_Well, what would you know? You're too caught up in your own little world to know what's going on anywhere else anyway. And just cause I don't feel the need to hug or talk about 'how I feel' every ten minutes doesn't mean I am an emotional retard." He snapped, and in his anger he accelerated heavily, making the car lurch forward. _

"_Jesus Dean, be careful!" _

"_I know how to drive ok! And enough with the pestering me already!" Dean glared at the road, his knuckles white from his vicelike grip on the wheel. _

_Sam ground his teeth in annoyance, his jaw rigid with irritation. Dean always made him feel like a stupid petulant boy – just like his father did – and he hated that more than anything. _

_Ten minutes passed before Dean broke and looked over at Sam, who was staring moodily at the scenery. Feeling ashamed of his outburst (though he would never admit it to him) he sighed. _

"_I met her at school, when we were seniors in our final year." _

_Despite himself, Sam looked over interestedly. He made sure, however, to keep the annoyed expression on his face in case Dean looked up, even though he knew that this was his odd way of trying to apologise. Dean however, had his eyes carefully fixed on the highway. _

"_I was giving one of the freshman a hard time and she came over and told me to stop. So I started on her - and we ended up having an argument in front of half the school and she slapped me. And I got suspended. She was an A grade student and the principal loved her, so all she got was a detention. It turned out that she was in my biology class and as part of the punishment they put us together for one of the experimental investigations." _

_Sam smirked. "Let me guess. Love at first sight after initial tribulations?" _

"_Hardly." Dean's face looked lopsided with a wry grin. "She was near top of the class and I made it as difficult as humanely possible for her. We fought every step of the way and we ended up getting a C for it." Dean smiled, memories evident on his face. "She was so angry. Somehow she found out our address and she came around. You and dad were out somewhere and I was trying it on with a girl, she came bursting in and yelling at me and her hair was flying everywhere and her eyes were massive and…" his voice faltered. "I guess I decided that she was kind of cute." He said in a rush. "Took me a month to get her to go on a date with me." _

_He looked over at Sam, who quickly wiped the smile off his face to look serious. Dean laughed and smacked him over the head with the palm of his hand. _

"_The rest is history, little brother." _

Sam stretched out his feet as he reflected on that moment that happened so many years ago. He really knew nothing about Charlie, other than she was the only girl that Sam saw Dean get nervous about. He wondered what Dean planned to do once he had talked to her. Sam hadn't really been keen on asking him for details, he was already tetchy enough and Sam wasn't in the mood for arguing. He supposed that he would just go and talk to her tonight and then meet up in the morning. Thus, he was very surprised when he saw Dean and Charlie emerging from the lamplight near where they were parked, hand in hand and heading for the car.

Sam shifted to an upright position rather quickly. No way had Dean forgotten that he was in there. But they got closer and closer until a sudden realisation passed over Dean's face and he stopped, jerking Charlotte as she took a step forward and met resistance. At the same time Sam dived for the back seat, desperately wrenching his legs over the transmission tunnel and making himself as small as possible, covering his figure with an old blanket that Dean conveniently insisted on keeping.

"Everything alright?" Outside, Charlie looked at Dean with concern.

Dean saw Sam head for the backseat and quickly stepped in front of the car, blocking it from her view.

"Aaaaaaaaah, yes!" Dean threw her a boyish smile. "I just, err, wanted to say, ah, what a beautiful night it was and how much I missed you."

Charlotte dug her hands in her pockets, looking at him suspiciously. "The only time you tell me you've missed me is when you want wild, gratuitous sex."

Dean blinked. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that. But can't I say something nice and possibly romantic?"

Charlie looked at him amusedly.

"Seriously!" Dean looked hurt.

"How about you open the car door for me and we drive somewhere before I freeze my butt off."

"Good call." Dean scrunched up his nose, relief flooding him when he turned to face the car to see that Sam had disappeared from sight.

"I missed you too." Charlie whispered in a soft voice, standing on her tip toes and kissing him on the cheek, making hairs stand up on the back of his neck.

Much to his own embarrassment he blushed, and coughing quickly to cover it up he fumbled with the door handle before pulling the door open and shutting it behind her. He walked quickly around the front of the car, searching for his keys in his pocket and then realising he must have left them in the ignition.

"You're keen," she remarked as he slid into the driver's seat, feeling Sam's knees sticking through the seat and into his back.

"Sorry?" he said, thanking his lucky stars that Sam hadn't folded himself away behind the passenger's seat.

"Leaving your keys in the ignition. You rich enough to give away your cars now?"

Dean grimaced, feeling apprehensive. Surely she would notice Sam soon. "I wish."

* * *

It took Charlie ten minutes to realise that Sam was squashed in the back. She turned to check out the back window (at which Dean's heart started thumping again) and as her eyes raked down the interior she noticed a sneaker. And she noticed that sneaker was being partly covered by a pair of jeans. And attached to that pair of jeans was a person. She must say, she did think it was sweet of Sam to try and stay out of her and Dean's way. She had only met him a few times, but she had liked him immediately. But she could tell by Dean's continual glancing in the rear vision mirror and his nervous laugh that he was trying very hard to cover this up. And it had almost worked – the shape was almost unrecognisable as a human figure, but there were just a few telltale lumps that gave it away. For a moment she thought about letting it slide, Dean was obviously embarrassed – but then she knew she would regret it if she didn't make the most of her opportunity to have a little fun with him.

Turning back around and acting like everything was normal (Dean's heart rate returned to a mildly fast beat) Charlie directed him to an affordable but nice hotel on the outskirts of town. It was nearly nine o'clock when they glided up to the corner, Dean killing the engine and looking over at Charlie in the passengers seat.

She smiled, playing up her shy face and taking his hand in hers. "Dean…"

"Mmmm?" He smiled back, entwining their fingers.

"I don't know what to say…"

"You don't have to say anything." He said reassuringly, trying to catch her eye.

Charlie stared at their hands for a moment before deftly unclipping her belt and climbing over to Dean's side of the car, managing to manoeuvre herself so that her knees rested on either side of his legs. They were very close. He could feel the warmth of her breasts pressed up against his chest, and her breath tickled his lips. He snaked him arms around her and she took his head in her hands. They were perfect silhouettes, illuminated by the moonlight.

This time Charlie kissed Dean first. Leaning in and pressing her lips to his, she drew him in, running her fingers through his short spiky hair and pulling their faces closer. It was only after a few minutes that Dean remembered that his younger brother was in the seat behind him and could probably see everything that was going on. This thought was horrifying enough to make Dean pull away.

"Is everything ok?" She paused.

"Ah. Well, maybe we shouldn't do this here. We could get arrested or something."

"Arrested? Out here at this hour? No way." She kissed him again, but again he pulled away.

"Look, I really…don't think….this is a good idea." He said in between kisses, his knees weak either with apprehension, excitement or blood loss.

"Come on Dean," she whispered, kissing him softly behind his ear. "It's not like your brother is watching or anything."

Dean stiffened. "Of course he isn't. What would make you say a thing like that? Man, that's so weird. I can't believe you would say that." He stuttered, glad she couldn't see his obvious lie on his face.

Charlotte put her hands on his shoulders to push herself up and looked at his face, before shaking her head and reaching past him, pulling the blanket off from over Sam.

"Hi Sam."

Dean's head slumped.

"Hi Charlie." Sam said, blushing and feeling painfully embarrassed. "How have you been?"

"Fine thanks. And yourself?"

"Not too bad."

Dean's head snapped up and he craned his neck to look at Sam. "Damn boy, what are you doing here? Are you spying on me again? Go on, get out of here."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Shut up Dean."

"What?" he questioned, meeting her eyes defiantly.

She laughed, sitting back on her heels and resting against the steering wheel. "Oh you are such a bad liar."

Dean shrugged offhandedly, trying his like with a charming smile. "It was worth a try."

Still chuckling, Charlie clambered back over to her side, opening the door and walking around the car to lean against the driver's side. Dean followed suit and Sam scrambled out after him.

"Well, I guess I should be going…" Sam gestured to the car after a pointed look from Dean.

Charlie shot him a look, before smiling kindly at Sam. "There's a great little café in the lobby. Do you want to come in have a coffee with us?"

Sam saw Dean send him another well-directed stare out of the corner of his eye. "No, I have some friends in town I want to visit…"

"Would you stop it with the sending him looks already? God, way to treat your brother." Charlie challenged Dean.

"What? It's not a crime if I don't want my geeky brother hanging around with us."

"Dean! Don't call your brother that!"

"Come on, that's what he is!"

"Are we back in high school or something?"

"Don't you get that sarcastic tone with me!"

"I haven't got any tone! And I'll take whatever tone I like!"

Sam couldn't help but be amused at Dean's face. "Seriously," he interrupted his brother mid sentence, looking at Charlie who had her arms crossed. "I'm fine."

She sent Dean a withering look and he made a face. Frowning slightly, she considered Sam and looked doubtful. "Well…only if you're sure."

Sam nodded.

"See you later then little brother. Look after my car." Dean said shepherding, Sam into the car, and shutting the door. Charlie sent him an apologetic look.

"Bye Sam." She waved, and Sam watched as the pair walked away, Dean putting his arm around her and she whacked him on the stomach, although after a momentary pause she kissed him on the cheek.

Sam smiled and shook his head, and putting the car in gear he waved as he roared past.

Trust Dean.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Did not have not will not own anything related to the concept, characters and everything else associated with Supernatural. Quick reminder: Set pre contact with le father and also pre Route 666 with that chick Dean had a thing for – shudder. That was such a bad ep. Sorry this chapter has taken me a while to get up – school and what not. Am nearly finished though, should be completely posted in a few weeks! Enjoy (hopefully !) !**

**Chapter Three**

Three floors up on the top floor, on the east wing and two rooms from the end on the left hand side, was room 201. Room 201 was a nice room. It was one of the manager's favourites. The views weren't especially magnificent around here, but this one – well, it wasn't bad. You could see the little town stretching away into the distance, lights twinkling like beacons through the nights that sometimes got unbearably dark. But all of this could be shut out with the handsome beige curtains, tied back with a smart gold tassel. A faded photograph hung on the wall, disrupting the uniform green striped wallpaper. There was one armchair, one television, a small bathroom and a neatly made queen bed. Charlie thought it was a nice room. It was a nice room, the right place for creating nice memories. Dean didn't really care, as long as he was here with her.

So here, on the bed in room 201, with the television flickering dully on the walls, Charlie and Dean sat. One of the things that Charlie liked most about Dean was his hands. They were big, but not unnatural. They were strong hands, used to hard work and toil. There were a few calluses and there were more than a few faint scars on his knuckles. But they were caring hands, hands that knew potential and hands that grasped the future with their wide and safe capability. Charlie loved Dean's hands and she loved it when he held hers. It was such a cliché, it was pathetic and weak (and she knew it!) but this action, more than any other that Dean did when they were together, made her feel safe and made her feel loved.

Sitting there with him, with Dean holding her hand, she thought her heart would just burst with feeling. Charlie grinned, watching the TV but not taking in a single image. As she watched, an ad slid neatly onto the screen.

"The scariest thing you will see this summer," a deep voice in the background proclaimed, "is: 'Zombies: The Lost Cause." Followed by a series of shots of pretty girls with blood spattered faces screaming or trembling silently behind shaking doors, the clip ended with a mutilated hand emerging from a mist shrouded grave.

Dean, who had been observing the ad with bemused interest, snorted derisively. "Crap. I'd seen scarier things when I was seven."

Charlotte, who had been chuckling, paused thoughtfully. "Really?"

Dean shrugged uncomfortably, wishing that he hadn't said anything. He trusted her implicitly and she had been one of the first people he had told about what he and Sam really did when he was away, but he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about anything like that, because when he was with Charlie, it was his little slice of normality. The alternate reality that he could, in an ideal world, be living. But Dean knew, more than anything, that 'ideal' was a concept that did not exist – especially for him.

"I guess." He said, after a pause. "After Mum died, Dad just kind of threw us into the thick of it. I've known about this stuff for as long as I can remember." He added begrudgingly, sensing her curiosity.

Charlie looked at him sympathetically, tucking her legs up under herself and moving to lean against his side. Dean squirmed. He didn't want sympathy. He just wanted someone who knew his secret, but treated him like a normal person anyway. They lapsed into silence for a while, and when she spoke again, it made him swallow his displeasure very quickly.

"You know I worry about you." She said quietly, not meeting his eyes. "I know when you told me what you really do, you said not to. I know you said that you can look after yourself. And I trust you, I really do. I mean, you're still here aren't you?" Charlie looked at him with a faint smile. "But four years is a long time Dean. A lot can happen in four years. I know you don't want to talk about it…"

Dean stirred, feeling bad that he had been so unwilling to share such a few minor details. But Charlie shook her head, smiling sadly, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

"It's ok. I won't ask you. But then, you'll have to forgive me for being selfish. I know that if I'm scared, then you have to be scared sometimes too." For the first time in five minutes she met his eyes and it made Dean's heart want to break. They weren't talking about ghosts anymore. A few minutes ago so happy, Dean saw in her what in himself, he didn't want to recognise. This wasn't ever going to be more than what it was – a meeting every four years that affirmed existence and memories, that made sure that this was only ever going to be a dream. She let out a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut and causing more tears to slide down her face. "I'm scared Dean."

He tore his eyes away, unwilling to accept it. Hope was a tricky thing, and Dean didn't have the greatest track record with it – but sometimes, it arrived just when he most sorely needed it.

"Hey. Come here." Charlie allowed Dean to pull her into his lap, hating herself for doing this when she had promised that she wouldn't. Dean put his arms around her and felt her weight lean into him, her head against his shoulder and her breath hot against his neck.

"I wish things were different," he said, stroking her hair so he wouldn't have to look at her. "But they aren't. I have to do this, because…" the sentence stuck in his throat.

Because it's what I'm good at. Because I can't imagine living a normal, small town life. Because this is who I am. Because my family comes before anybody, anything, anyone.

"…Because I just have to." He ended blandly.

Charlotte nodded. "You don't have to explain."

"Hey." Dean shifted so that he could see her. "I don't have to leave for a while. And I know it's hard but…" He smiled. "I'm glad that you still want to know me, even after all these years."

Charlie smiled. "Of course I do." She looked down, feeling a flash of anger at the guilt coursing through her, and not wanting Dean to see. Why shouldn't she be allowed to enjoy herself, to enjoy the precious few moments she got to spend with him? She was always the good girl; she always did what was right by other people, even if it meant that she had to miss out. And why? It didn't make her feel good. She was just lying to herself. Her conscience was constantly morphing, but she knew this was what she wanted. She wanted to forget – and in that, Dean was an expert.

"I'm sorry." She said, after a moment. She sighed, repositioning herself to face him but keeping her eyes downcast. Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I really wish they had put another ad on TV." She looked up, the beginnings of a laugh tweaking the corners of her mouth.

Dean grinned, a chuckle threatening to escape. Next thing they were both laughing, mirth spilling around the room and ugly feelings forgotten. Still shaking, Dean pulled Charlie to him and kissed her, softly and sweetly. When he released her, her cheeks were crimson.

"Still got it," she admitted.

"Charlie…" Dean smoothed her hair, running a hand protectively underneath her jaw line. He wanted to say something, but was finding it impossible to string together the words.

She smiled, running her hands over the contours of his face, her fingers smooth against the beginnings of his stubble.

"I love you." The words tumbled out of his mouth, rolled off his tongue before he could stop them.

Charlie froze for a second and Dean wished the earth would rise up three stories and swallow him. In his entire life, he had said that phrase only once. Then Charlotte kissed him, hard and hungrily. Moving to get closer to him, her hips pushed against his, creating a delightful friction between them. She rose to her knees, for a few moments making him reach for her kisses – but Dean pulled her hips back down onto his, not resisting as her hands snaked down to the bottom of his shirt and drew it over his head.

Her heart skipped several beats as she ran her hands down his muscular chest. He was incredible. Absolutely incredible. Leaving the warmth of his mouth, she trailed kisses down his neck and along his chest, only returning to taste him again when he pulled her face back up to his.

"I thought you didn't want wild, gratuitous sex," Dean said mischievously.

Charlie laughed. "I never said I didn't want it," she said, noting that he raised no objections to her fumbling with the buckle on his jeans.

Using his strength, Dean wrapped his arms around her, gently rolling on top of her.

"Well you're in luck," he said playfully. "Because that just so happens to be my forte."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Ditto on previous chapters! Me no ownie. Respect to Kripke for creating Supernatural and damn Channel Ten to hell for not putting on the second season yet. What a stupid enormous horrible cliff hanger! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE SECOND SEASON YET, though,so please don't tell me. Thanks! Enjoy and review (if you want!) ! **

**Chapter Four **

On a good day, Luke Alexander thought he looked a bit like Superman. With his short dark hair, his dark eyes and his heavy framed glasses, he could almost pull off the shy, hesitant charm of Clarke Kent – minus, of course, the impossible muscles. He had worked it out to such a fine art – how to smile, how to make his eyes twinkle, how to push his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. In the bathroom, he could flirt the deodorant right off the shelf…but when he looked at himself hard enough in the mirror, he realised that it took a lot more than just charming a can of body spray to turn Clarke Kent into Superman. Yet, akin to Clarke, Luke always felt like he had the potential to go anywhere, do anything, save anyone, to live out any of his dreams.

To him, school had simply been a place where everyone was sorted into ranks. And though everyone refused to believe it, a place where society was truly defined. A microorchism of a world that no one wanted to believe existed, but underneath knew that it did. Fortunately, this hadn't bothered Luke very much. He had simply seen it as an obligatory stage in his life, by which through attendance ensured that other avenues to bigger and greater things existed. And, by some lucky chance, it had also been something that he happened to be good at. Top of Biology, an ace at English and brilliant in Computer Technology, Luke had been esteemed by the sensible and responsible students, praised by teachers, admired by the mediocre and laughed at by the jocks.

When Luke Alexander first met Charlotte Cunningham, it was like one of his dreams had solidified and walked into his ordinary, middle school life. She was smart and funny, friendly and independent. She didn't seem to notice or care about social obligations or status – she was tougher or perhaps above all of that, which won her respect and admiration, and sometimes a little fear. They were friends, all the way through school, often at each other's houses working on assignments or watching old gangster movies. Even in their final year, when things were incredibly busy and spare time was scant, there was always at least one afternoon a week were Charlie would turn up at his house with her massive green cushion under one arm, and a bag of popcorn and a movie under the other.

And, it wasn't until their senior year that Luke started to realise that he got a bit jealous when he saw Charlie talking to other boys, and that the thoughts of being intimate with her became more frequent and not as disturbing. Yet, as open as he knew he could be with her, he was absolutely unable to formulate the words to tell her how he felt. He could outline perfectly the ideal conditions for growing penicillin, or what the underlying biases in Macbeth were…but whenever he looked at Charlie in the eyes and opened his mouth to tell her that he thought he was in love with her, all his words flew away.

And then Dean Winchester arrived, and changed everything.

* * *

The sunrise was magnificent. The sun ascended into the sky a glowing orb, gliding delicately from step to step on a staircase made of clouds. It stained the sky pink, then orange and then golden until the dazzling blue of the sky started to leach through. Today was going to be a cold day.

Sam awoke with a start, his neck stiff and his back aching. He had slept in this car a million times before, but had still failed to find a comfortable sleeping position that didn't come back to haunt him the next day. Blinking rapidly, his eyes accustomed to the fresh light of the new day, his skin rising into goosebumps as a chilly morning breeze whisked through the gaps in the car. So much for Dean making it air tight. Stretching around the steering wheel, Sam folded himself out of the car before locking the door and striding down the street, hoping to return some life to his tired muscles.

They had lived in this town once, the three of them. The streets were familiar, though the same kind of familiar that a memory has when it has been remembered once to often and then buried under more important things – hazy around the edges. He remembered his school; it was one of the few he had enjoyed going to. With Dean's school just across the road, Sam used to wait for his big brother to walk him home, much to Dean's mortification. But that didn't matter to Sam, it didn't matter if Dean would pace ahead and he had to run to catch up, because he remembered it as the one place in a long time where he actually felt like a family.

Dean hadn't wanted to go back to school. In the time it took to move to the new house and get everything organised, it had been a month since either of the boys had had any formal education. Dean hated the last place so much that he had vowed never to go back – instead he wanted to accompany his father on his many daytime expeditions. Sam remembered, with a half amused smile, how much Dean and his father had argued about it – but of course, in the end, Dean gave in, complying with his father's wishes. He always did, in the end.

About two blocks from where Sam had parked the car was where their old house once stood. Since then, it had been either knocked down and rebuilt or renovated beyond the point of recognition – so much so that Sam felt the bitter taste of disappointment as he laid eyes upon it. It was nothing like he remembered, nothing at all. Turning to face the dawn, Sam let the rays of the sun wash over his face. The light and warmth was pure, and opening his eyes, Sam saw something that brought a smile to his face. The old tree, which stood like a sentry opposite their house, was still in its guarding position. Crossing the road, Sam ran his hands over the smooth bark, a smile on his face. This was the first tree he had ever learnt to climb. Struck by a sudden thought, he knelt on the ground, pulling back years of weeds from the base of the tree.

DW + CC the crude carving read. Sam gently brushed away the dirt and the characters seemed to flicker in the light. He remembered the night when he had hidden away in the top of that tree, spying on his brother as he carved something into the bark with the army knife Dad had given him. Watching as Dean told some mysterious girl that he loved her, but sometimes that that wasn't enough. The next morning the Winchesters moved away.

Suddenly his cell rang, awakening from his contemplative state. A little puzzled by the unrecognisable number, he answered.

"Hello?"

There was a lengthy pause.

"He - " Sam began again, but another voice cut him off.

"Sam."

Sam went wide-eyed with shock. "Dad?"

"Sam - "

But this time Sam was the one to interrupt. "Where are you? What happened? Are you ok? Are you hurt? Do you need help?" The questions tumbled out of his mouth.

"I'm fine, Sammy, I'm fine." His father sounded tired, as if these were questions he heard often. "Listen, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything Dad, just tell me where you are."

"That's a little difficult right at the moment. Where's your brother? I tried his cell but it was off and it redirected me through to you."

Sam started to talk, but as soon as he opened his mouth knew that Dean didn't want their father to know where they really were, or what they were doing. "He's – he must still be asleep in the car. I'm just stretching my legs, he must have slept on it funny and accidentally turned it off."

His father either didn't pick up on the lie or was too tired to care. "How soon can you make it to Iowa?"

Sam automatically recalled a map in his head and traced a route. "A days solid driving if we leave soon. Why, do you need help?"

On the other end of the phone, his father sighed. "Something has come up. I wouldn't ask you to do this, I know it puts us all in danger…but I need to see you both."

"Dad, just tell me where you are, and Dean and I will leave as soon as possible."

There was another deep silence. "157 South Road. Meet me there. I only have two days." With a click, the line went dead.

Sam replaced his cell in his pocket, his mind dipping in and out like a whirly gig. He had to get Dean and they had to leave now…

He bit his lip anxiously. He didn't want to interrupt them again, especially when this was the last time they would see each other in a long while…but Dean would want to know. He was just as anxious to meet up with their father, but he had also been waiting to see Charlie for four years. Sam stood completely still for a few moments. Birds swooped overhead, chirping merrily. The leaves in the tree above him swayed in the morning breeze.

And then, decision made, Sam started for the car at a run. This was family, and family came before anybody, anything, anyone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Not Mine:) **

**AN: I will be trying my darndest (is that even a word?) to update regularly with this, but school is a mean son of a gun and I might not get a chance. But I'm nearly done, and I will try and set aside some time each weekend to update. Woot. Hope you enjoy! **

**Chapter Five**

_Dean Winchester was a jock. It was obvious, the moment he set foot on campus, that that was the group to which he was destined to belong. Luke had never been a fan of the jock fraternity and he liked Dean even less. To him, Dean typified everything about that group that he disliked – he was loud, obnoxious, sleazy, thought he was hilarious and was irritatingly popular. And, even more annoyingly, was very good-looking and utterly aware of it. He could disrupt class a dozen times and the only reprimand he would receive was a fit of horrendous giggles from most of the girls, a slap on the back from his friends and a disapproving look from the teacher. Luke couldn't stand it, and one time, it took Charlie to stop him from throwing the heart they were dissecting across the room and into his smug face. _

"_Don't," she said, reading his thoughts and laying a hand on his arm. "He's not worth it." _

_She threw Dean a disgusted look as he made a vulgar gesture towards her across the room. "He's a jerk. Besides," she added, looking at Luke with a twinkle in her eye. "You're horrible at gym. Wouldn't have even hit him." _

_That afternoon Luke and Charlie were going back to Luke's house. As always, the grass in front of the school was filled with students leisurely milling around before going home. Yellow sunlight filtered through the trees and laughter and chatter floated in the air – it seemed to Luke almost like a scene out of a movie as they strolled over towards the middle school. Dean and his friends were draped over the concrete stairs, talking loudly. As Luke and Charlie passed, there was a shout of raucous laughter and turning, they saw Dean holding a knapsack just out of reach of a chubby kid in a younger grade. _

"_He is such a jerk," Charlotte hissed, and Luke nodded. He was just about to reply when his younger brother came running up to them. _

"_Mum says we have to go straight home so she can show you what to do with casserole because they're going out tonight and she doesn't want you to ruin it like last time," he said, without drawing breath and not bothering to say hello. _

_Luke blushed, but Charlie gave him a smile. "You go. I'll meet you later." He nodded again, still embarrassed, guiding his little brother towards the footpath. He turned to wave, but Charlie wasn't looking – instead, she was striding determinedly towards Dean Winchester. _

_At home an hour and a half later, Luke was starting to get a little worried. With his brother upstairs in his room doing his homework, Luke had spread his Geography assignment over the table, hoping to make a start. As a partnered assignment however, without Charlie there was little point. He was just about to go out and look for her when she stormed through the door, looking furious. Luke opened his mouth to ask her if everything was all right, but she beat him to it. _

"_I hate Dean Winchester!" she burst out, slamming her bag on the table and sending papers flying. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were full of anger. _

"_What happened?" Luke asked, half alarmed and half amused. He looked over at her and to his horror saw that her eyes were brimming with tears. "Charlotte, what happened?" Concerned, he folded her into his arms. "What on earth is wrong?" _

_Charlie took a shaky breath. "I just hate bullies. Especially when people like him do it to kids like that. It's just not fair." Her voice broke off as angry tears streamed rivers down her face. _

_Luke shuffled over to the cabinet with her and reached down some tissues, which Charlie accepted gratefully. After a few minutes, she regained her composure, drawing away from him and looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry. Just he was being such a jerk…"_

"_Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asked gently. He wasn't really sure how to deal with women when they were crying. _

_Charlie looked at her feet and then up at him. "Well after you left, I went over and snatched the bag off him. When I gave it back, the poor kid was so upset he was practically crying. I told Dean to pick on someone his own size." She paused, filling a glass with water and handing it to Luke before filling her own. _

"_Well, good on you," he said. "It's about time someone put him in his place." _

_She gave a wry smile. "That's not the half of it. He was winding me up Luke, but I just snapped. I called him a few names and then he said I was fat and I lost it." She dropped her gaze to the floor, cheeks pink again. "I slapped him. Really hard. He had a hand print in his face." _

_Luke choked on the water he was drinking. "You did what?" _

"_I know! I've never done anything like it before in my life, but he was just so smug with that fucking superior attitude." She shook her head, a derisive look on her face._

"_I can't believe you slapped him," Luke said faintly. "He's going to have it in for you for the rest of the year." _

_Charlie snorted. "I don't care about that. I can look after myself and he certainly doesn't scare me." She sighed, fiddling with the glass. "But he got suspended. And I got a detention." _

_Hearing her voice catch, Luke put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "It doesn't matter. It's only a detention," He said, hopeful he was talking about the right thing._

"_I've never had a detention before. Ever!" Luke felt relieved, but Charlotte continued. "What are my parents going to say? Practically the whole school was watching. God, it was so embarrassing, I've never lost my temper like that before…" _

_Luke gave her another quick hug before releasing her. "Well. It could be worse," he said, trying to hide his smile. _

"_Oh?" Charlie looked up at him sceptically. _

"_Well sure," Luke said grinning. "You could be Dean Winchester." _

* * *

Dean woke once during the night. He woke, mind blank and heart racing, to an unfamiliar room and an unfamiliar bed. The darkness was so complete he couldn't see anything, and the only sound he could hear was the mad beating of his heart. Panic exploded in the pit of his stomach and he sat bolt upright, willing some sort of recollection to calm him. And as soon as he wished for it, a hand touched his; and his memory was instantly refilled with magic and colour. 

"Shhh," her voice circled around in his ear as she pulled him back underneath the covers, close to the warmth of her body. "It's ok." She moved a little and Dean inched closer to her. He didn't want to let her go, not just yet.

"It's ok," the words were heavy with sleep as she moulded herself to fit against his body, completing the half.

Slowly Dean fell for the irresistible pull of sleep and he drifted off, eased by the slow, steady beats of her heart.

* * *

Charlie woke hours later, to a newly risen sun and the fresh chill of the morning. She was tired and had the feeling of having dreamt vividly, but was unable to remember anything. Stretching and then snuggling back under the blankets to avoid the cool pinch of the air, Charlie looked over at Dean. He wasn't awake, and she smiled as his face creased with some unknown cause for concentration in his sleep. He was lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded hands and the blankets bunched under the bump of his shoulder blades. Looking with displeasure at this interruption in the continuity of his tanned figure, Charlie idly reflected on what the covers were so unfairly hiding. But sight, in this case, was just a secondary sensation – every muscle, every curve, every line on this man's body was burnt into her. She felt a familiar thrill pulse through her as his muscles sporadically tensed and then relaxed. She remembered what it felt like to be encased in his arms, to feel like his touch would set her on fire and his warm, laboured breath would melt her skin.

It was like a dream, a delicious dream. One of the ones that is so tangible and touchable that when you wake, reality is disappointingly empty – as if something is missing or been taken away. And no matter how much you wish you could stitch yourself back in, back to how you felt and what was happening, you can't. Last night, with the heavy weight of sleep pressing against her eyes, Charlie prayed that in the morning she wouldn't have to comprehend that bittersweet feeling. And fortunately, she didn't have to – the morning was here and so was he, and the dream she thought had been too good to be true didn't look like unravelling anytime soon.

Charlie rolled onto her back, beaming at the ceiling. This was it. She loved this, she loved him, she loved knowing that he was sleeping in the same bed, a mere arms length away. Sneaking another look at him, a feeling of elation rushed through her body. She felt like laughing uncontrollably, flailing her limbs wildly, kicking the bed out of pure euphoria – knowing that he was her lover, the best lover she had ever had.

Dean woke shortly after she did, a smile creeping onto his lips as his eyes slid over to Charlie, who was grinning mischievously at the ceiling.

"What are you smiling at?" he asked amusedly, his voice deep and scratchy after sleep.

Charlie looked over at him, surprised by the sudden sound of his voice, but still smiling widely. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she said enigmatically.

"Ooh," Dean said, raising an eyebrow. "We're playing this game are we?"

She laughed and Dean raised himself onto his elbows and stretched before moving over to her and kissing her. Her nose was cold against his cheek, but her mouth was warm and her kisses were sweet.

"Morning," she said, studying his face before he moved down, lining kisses down her neck and shoulder and then propping himself up on one elbow next to her.

He smiled, lacing his fingers with hers and then kissing her again. "Morning," he replied, his voice husky as his eyes flickered down over her. He pulled straight the blankets that had gathered in between them.

"Sleep well?" she asked lightly, but she didn't really need nor want an answer. She could feel his naked body against her and after that, her brain refused to be coherent.

"Marvellously." He responded, knowing exactly what she was thinking, because he was thinking it too. For a moment they simply stared at each other, before he smirked.

"You know what?" he said, shifting so that his weight was resting on top of her.

"What?" she replied nonchalantly, not willing to let on how her stomach was twisting itself into knots.

He lowered himself onto her so their faces were only inches apart, and she could feel his heart beating quickly in his chest, betraying his cool exterior. "I think today is the perfect day for staying in bed."

Charlie looked out at the beautiful day that had dawned, and then back at Dean. "I think," she paused, running her hands down the full length of his back, causing him to break out into goosebumps. "You might be right."

When he kissed her, he tasted what she wanted, and as their tongues slid desperately over each other, he wished he could give it to her. But he couldn't control the future, only this living moment – and as he dipped his face to hers again, he wasn't sure if he could even control that. Outside, the sun rose higher into the sky.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Hello Fellows! I do not own Supernatural or any related concepts or themes. I have no original ideas of my own – so I choose to copy off Eric Kripke. **

**AN: Yes, yes, yes. A long time since I updated. Sorry about the wait – this was a bit difficult to write and I have hardly any spare time. But, it is a rather lengthy chapter that will keep you roasty toasty for a while! Enjoy munchkins :) **

**Chapter Six**

"_I'd like to buy an E, please." _

_There was a high-pitched ding as two squares on the Wheel of Fortune board lit up, and the host beamed toothily into the camera. The audience clapped enthusiastically as the wheel clattered and the champ spun again. _

"_Top dollar!" The host exclaimed as it came to rest, and a clip of triumphant music blared. _

"_A 'Z' for Zechariah, thank you," the champ said smoothly. "I'd like to solve it please." He paused significantly. "Seize the day." _

"Seize the day!" the host repeated in a forcibly animated voice. The audience clapped nonetheless, oblivious to the subtle mockery.

_Luke scowled. He hated metaphoric television. And he hated it even more when it was smug metaphoric television that insisted on reminding him of the thing he was trying so hard to pretend wasn't a big deal. Today was the deadline. The absolute last day. His very last chance. _

_Charlie was coming over that afternoon. The past few months had been odd, to say the very least. Her detention date came and went, Dean Winchester served his suspension and then to cap the whole marvellous situation off, they were forcibly paired together for a piece of Biology assessment. Charlie was furious - and that was putting it lightly. Dean refused to work, refused to cooperate, refused to be the slightest bit agreeable. Charlie would come to Luke after nearly every class, practically crying with frustration. She was so angry, with herself for letting Dean get to her like that and with Dean for being so goddamn impossible. And after four weeks of struggles, battles of wills and heated arguments, Dean and Charlie handed the assignment in, only to receive it back four weeks later with a large 'C-' blemishing the front page. _

_And after that, things got weird. Charlie started being a little more subdued in her furious outbursts until she hardly complained about Dean at all. Luke didn't know if it was just him, but he started noticing the little things that were changing about her – like the fact that she put on mascara, or that she wore tops that hugged in the right places (not that he was complaining, mind you), or the fact that she smiled a lot more and that sometimes he couldn't find her after school so he walked home alone. He noticed, but he noticed that he was changing too, like all the growing up was done and now it was time to be an adult. He supposed that it was the same sort of thing for girls, although he knew he was far too inexperienced and knew too little about them to know for sure. Nonetheless, he found it easier to write off these changes as his interpretation of her beautiful transition into womanhood, and didn't read too much into it. Rather, he let himself dig further into a hole of messy feelings for close friends and now…well; the great American tradition of the high school prom was here to exacerbate the situation. _

_Luke and Charlie had decided long ago that the prom was so overrated that it wasn't even remotely worth going to. Yet, they had decided that it was one of those rudimentary rites of passage that you simply had to attend, even if you didn't want to. In his younger years, Luke had been sure that he would approach the event with a certain air of detachment, that he would be nonplussed about the entire affair because it was nothing but a forum for comparing looks and levels of popularity. He had envisioned himself arriving in a pressed white suit, marvellously dateless and free, ready to dance like an idiot and drink too much bad punch – absolutely set on defying any expectation that had been laid before him. But now that the actual real thing was here, he was finding it a little more difficult to summon the same courage of heart. _

_He didn't want to dance like a fool anymore. He didn't want to get drunk and embarrass himself. He had decided upon the white suit, but the most important thing…he didn't want to be dateless either. And he knew exactly whom he wanted to take. It was getting harder to justify now – although he was trying to convince himself that he just wanted Charlie beside him to help him get through the torture that was the prom, he knew that there was a deeper and infinitely more secret desire. There was a pesky, undeniable voice of truth that knew that he wanted to be her date because she was beautiful and he was in love with her, and if he had to share this night with anyone, he wanted more than anything for it to be with her. _

_He wasn't quite sure why he had left it this late. He knew she would say yes, but there was something that made him reluctant to embark upon his leap of faith. Some level of intuition that told him to wait a little longer, and then a little longer again until he found himself waiting for her to arrive at his house and taking life advice from Wheel of Fortune. Although he had been expecting her to arrive for a while, he was still surprised when she sauntered into his room, cheeks flushed and a wide smile on her face. Luke marvelled at how she looked the complete opposite of how he felt – whilst his hands quavered a little with nerves, she looked carefree and relaxed. _

"_Hey," she greeted him with a grin, flopping down on his bed after depositing her bag on the floor and kicking it under his desk. _

"_Hi," he replied, barely managing to hide the tightness in his throat. _

_She looked bemusedly at the television. "What are you watching this for?" she asked, considering the Wheel of Fortune host critically. "I always hated this show cause it was suspiciously like horribly insufficient metaphoric TV." _

"_Mmm," Luke could only bring himself to make a small sound of compliance as she leant across him to reach for the remote. She was so close he could smell her, feel the heat of her body and see things that he wished he could see again. _

"_So what are we doing tonight then? Movies? TV? It's up to you really," she said, surveying him sideways and puzzled by his apparent lack of responsiveness. _

_Luke clued in just in time. "I'm not sure. Thought we could just hang out, you know." He smiled at her, but she looked at him searchingly before returning it. _

"_Sure thing." Charlie fell silent and they both turned to the TV to cover the suddenly awkward moment. _

_After a few moments she spoke. "Is everything alright?" she asked, eying him with concern. It was unlike him to be so anxious. _

_Luke mustered a smile. "Absolutely," he said, knowing that he hadn't at all convinced her and lamenting at her incredulous look. "Well, I guess there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about." _

_Charlie nodded, glad that he wasn't wasting time with the pretence. Muting the TV, she clambered off the bed to sit on the floor beside him, waiting in patient silence for him to speak. _

"_Well, I…ah, Um. I just wanted to…" he stammered, not meeting her eyes and staring fixatedly at his interlaced fingers. _

"_Well spit it out," Charlie said kindly, encouraging him with a nod. _

_Luke took a deep breath, regaining his composure and telling himself not to be so stupid. This was his best friend for god sake. _

"_Will you be my prom date?" He was actually surprised at how natural the words sounded. They just slid out of his mouth as if they had simply been waiting for the right time, not as if every syllable had been deliberated and decided upon. _

_Charlie blinked. "Sorry?" _

_Luke smiled and looked at his shoes. "Stupid question. I know we are going together, but…I never really asked you properly. So I thought I would, just…confirm it, you know. I thought it might be nice." He glanced up at her, and was surprised to see her not beaming, but looking stricken. _

"_Oh, Luke," she said, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "You hadn't asked me, so I thought you were going with someone else…" _

_Luke cut her off, nodding. "I know it has taken me a while to get around to asking you…" he smiled at his earlier apprehension. This was nowhere near as bad as he thought it would be. "But you shouldn't have worried. I wouldn't have even considered going with anyone else," he ended, putting a reassuring arm around her. _

"_Um. Well, thank you, I suppose. But…that's not the problem," Charlie said, biting her lip and looking at him hesitantly. "I…I can't be your prom date." _

_His eyebrows drew together in incomprehension, and he withdrew his arm from around her shoulders. "What do you mean? I know it's the prom and it's ridiculous, but I thought we had decided to go anyway." _

_Charlie looked away, seemingly fascinated with the wall, and Luke wondered why she refused to meet his eyes. "I…I - " her voice faltered and she moved her gaze to her lap. "I am going, just with…with someone else." _

_Luke felt his stomach lurch and then plummet down to the very core of the earth. "Sorry?" he asked, although he had heard perfectly well. _

_He heard her let out a tiny breath. "I'm sorry. I'm going with someone else." _

_The silence spiralled horribly, and Luke felt heat rush to his face. He hadn't considered that response. He had never felt so embarrassed or so vulnerable in his life. It was like one of those horrible dreams where you walk into school naked – only this was real and he had all his clothes on. Not that that made him feel much better, because he still felt the rough burn of humiliation._

"_Oh." His voice sounded hollow, even to him. _

"_Luke, I am so sorry. I feel so bad." Now Charlie met his eyes and the concern on her face eased his embarrassment, just a little. _

"_No, you're alright. It's… it's my fault. I should have known someone else would ask you. Don't feel bad," he mumbled, smiling faintly at her before looking down. That took a lot of effort._

"_I do," she said earnestly, feeling desperately wretched. " I'm so sorry." She took his hand and Luke saw tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. _

_He knew that she wanted him to tell her that everything was alright, that it didn't matter, that it was ok…but the pity in her eyes was so sincere that it made him feel sick and all of the sudden he just wanted to be alone. He closed his eyes. "It's…fine," he murmured, giving into her. _

_Charlie heard the empty approval, and a lump grew in her throat. Knowing that she had hurt him, that she had hurt someone that had been such a good friend to her…it was devastating. She took a breath and let go of his hand. "I should have told you earlier." _

_He merely shrugged, and suddenly the room felt too small for the both of them. She retrieved her bag and stood. She wanted to say something; anything to make him feel better…but the sight of his dejected figure killed any words she could have possibly thought of. She turned away. _

"_Who is it? Who are you going with?" His voice escaped despite himself, and he looked in time to see her hand falter on the doorknob. _

_There was a lengthy pause and she bowed her head. She didn't want to answer this question. Luke waited – both wanting and not to hear the answer. The silence could not have been more complete – Luke could hear the creak of the house, the birds plunging through the air outside. _

_Charlie took a deep breath, gripping the handle tightly and looking up at the door. "Dean Winchester," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat._

_And without even turning around, she opened the door and walked through it. He heard her go down the stairs, feet making soft flumps on the carpet. Heard the sound of the front door opening and then closing again. Heard the crunch of the gravel path as she walked away._

_He wondered vaguely how he was ever going to look at her again. _

* * *

_A few days afterwards, Charlie came to visit. Luke had been avoiding her, because he didn't know what hurt more: the fact that she wasn't going to the prom with him, or the fact that she was going to the prom with Dean Winchester. He wasn't sure why, but he felt some horrible sense of injustice. He had always been there for her, was nice to everyone, he was smart and he cared about her – yet she had chosen the smarmiest, most chauvinistic, self-absorbed and meanest person he had ever met, let alone the fact he had known her for all of five minutes. _

_If it had been anyone else, Luke thought that he could of dealt with it. Sure it would have been embarrassing, but anyone, anyone but Dean Winchester. The person he both detested and wished more than anything – especially on prom night – that he could be. There was just one burning question – why. Why him? Why, when not two months ago you said you hated him? When two months ago you slapped him so hard you left a handprint in his face? Luke hadn't realised that he had spoken the questions aloud until Charlie had started answering them. And when she told him that she thought that she was in love with Dean, the most horrible thing was that Luke loved her even more. He knew, more than anything, that you can't chose who you love – so instead of taking satisfaction from her tears, he put his arms around her and said that he didn't hate her, that he never could. And when she told him that even though she wasn't his date, the prom just wouldn't be the same without him, he found himself agreeing to go, despite the fact that he would be desperately alone. _

_Now, however, he was starting to regret his decision. He arrived ten minutes early and slunk in through the gym doors, not appreciating the garish decorations painstakingly put up by the organising committee. With some couples already there, Luke hid behind an overgrown pot plant, desperately wishing another lonely soul would arrive and ease his discomfort. Before long, some other boys joined him and a couple of minutes later, a few girls he knew from his biology class were also taking refuge behind the unkempt green. Luke sighed, shuffling over to the punch table and trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Unfortunately, he had just filled a cup and taken a rather large gulp when he turned to see Dean and Charlotte entering through the gym doors. This sight alone was enough to make him swallow rather quickly, and subsequently resulted in a coughing fit. Fortunately, no one was really looking in his direction so his attack went relatively unnoticed – except for one person. _

"_Are you alright?" Charlotte's voice was like silk, and he felt her hands rubbing his back. _

"_Fine thanks," he spluttered, standing upright and for the first time taking in her appearance. "Wow. You look beautiful," he said, and he meant it. No matter what happened between them, he found it impossible to lie to her. _

_Charlie smiled. "Thanks. You're looking alright yourself." _

_Luke half laughed, eyeing himself up and down and noting with disdain that he already managed to spill punch on his white suit. "Thanks." _

"_Charlie?" A deep voice interrupted their stilted conversation and Dean Winchester approached them. _

"_Dean," Luke didn't miss the relief in her voice. Or the little smile that crinkled the corners of her mouth when she looked over at him. _

_Dean nodded towards the dance floor, where a number of couples had already assembled. "They're about to play the first song." _

"_Right," Charlie rubbed her stomach, like she always did when she was apprehensive. "Well, come and say hello won't you? I want to dance with my best friend!" She laughed, but the sound quickly died in her throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Dean reach for Charlie's hand. _

_She looked down and then up, and then leaned forward and pecked Luke on the cheek, before folding herself back into Dean. Dean glanced at Charlie and then at Luke and smiled genially. Luke wanted to stab him in the face, but reduced himself to nodding graciously, watching as he led Charlie away._

_There was a blast of sound from the speakers as the first song was projected around the room. Despite himself, Luke's eyes were glued to Charlie and Dean. He watched as Dean whispered something in her ear, tilting her chin up with one hand and looking at her the way that Luke wished he could. He saw Charlie smile and laugh, and then suddenly look serious as Dean pulled her closer to him, resting on of his hands on her hip and enfolding the other in his own. Even from this distance, Luke saw Charlie melt against him and took a large swig of punch to put out the raging fire of jealousy. _

_That was possibly the lowest point of the night. That, or when he went out to get some air. Stumbling down to the park near the gym, he found Dean kissing Charlie underneath the old willow tree; with moonlight in their hair and a slight breeze making them huddle together for warmth. And he could tell: from the way he held her and the way she pulled his face to her again…Luke knew he could never love her enough. _


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Supernatural. Zip. Nilcho. Nada. A big morbidly obese zero. 'Cept one of those free promotional DVDs from Channel Ten that has the Bloody Mary ep on it. That one kinda freaked me out. Anyway. **

**Authors Note: Look, I am so sorry that it has taken me so long for this chapter. But I have a pretty good excuse. I just graduated from high school! WOOT! And seeing as that I am now unemployed and schooless, guess what? MORE UPDATES FOR YOU:) Enjoy, bastardarinos. **

**Chapter Seven**

To Dean, Charlie seemed to glow. Now, with his arms around her and the morning sunshine streaming in through the gap in the curtains, he felt like he was basking in her light. And maybe if he held her close enough and kissed her just right, he could glow too, and be just as radiant as her. She was beautiful, in all of her naked vulnerability, her implicit trust. Dean didn't know how to describe it, but there was something about the way she looked at him – eyes dark with desire and cheeks flushed pink, something about the way she arched her back into his touch, something about the way her skin raised into goosebumps whenever his lips brushed against her skin – it drove him absolutely mad.

Whenever they were together, it was like a good-natured battle of wills. Charlie had a strong spirit and Dean was charismatic so it was like of a contest – to see who would give in first, who could elicit the most feeling, who could maintain the upper hand. And at the moment, Dean was winning. Shifting his weight a little, he slid one hand behind her head and the other to rest in the small of her back. Charlie countered his move by pushing up, resisting his weight on top of her and making him a little weak at the knees. Keeping his composure he pulled away from her, letting his hand wander along her neck, making a trail up to her jaw line and then down to her collarbone. He felt Charlie's hands slide up along his back to rest on his shoulders and, burying his face in her neck, he traced the previous outline of his hands, layering soft kisses across her chest. Her skin was smooth against the rough of his face, and sneaking a quick look at her, Dean knew things were back in his favour. Time to progress. Drawing his hand out from underneath her, Dean had started to trace circles on her navel when he felt an unfamiliar inconsistency in the texture of her skin – one that he hadn't noticed last night.

"What's this?" he murmured, but before Charlie had a chance to answer, he had disappeared under the covers.

"It's a scar," she answered, fingers now in his hair. "Lesson one is to never fall down stairs whilst carrying a metal ruler."

"Oh," she heard a muffled voice answer, the trapped vibrations racing up her spine.

"That's not nearly as interesting as I hoped. I thought maybe you had got a tattoo or something."

Charlie laughed. "Not there. I am way too ticklish."

"Hmm," Dean said, grinning. "Big mistake." Kissing her scar, Dean then feathered kisses along her ribs, hands tickling any bare skin they could find.

The reaction was immediate. Charlie tried to wriggle away, and her hands sought his in a desperate attempt to make him stop. He could hear the sounds of her laughter, and feel her diaphragm shaking as he tickled her mercilessly.

"Stop it!" she squealed, wrestling under his persistent touch. "I'll hurt you!"

"Like to see you try," he grinned, emerging from the blanket but refusing to desist.

"Stop it!" She said again, but this time managed to squirm out from underneath him and begin her own fevered attack.

Five minutes later there was a mutual declaration of a cease-tickle, their stomach muscles aching with laugher. Having worked her way on top, Charlie was sprawled out across Dean's chest, propping herself up with her elbow while he tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck.

"I only stopped for you, you know," Dean said, giving her a playful smile and knowing that the hand resting at the very low end of her lower back was the cause of the shivers radiating across her body.

"Sure," she replied, grinning. "You think that."

For a moment Charlie fell silent, taking in his lopsided grin and feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her.

"I love you."

And with those three simple words, she was winning again. Charlie smiled at his surprise, and reaching for his face she leaned up and kissed him. To Dean, time seemed to stop existing. At one stage he thought he felt her tears on his cheek, but when he opened his eyes there were no tears – but painted on her face was such a look of sadness that it made his stomach lurch. Dean didn't know what to do; all he knew was that he wanted to take her pain away, to stop her from hurting. He didn't want to make her sad anymore. So he put his arms around her and kissed her, and when she moulded herself to his embrace he shifted so that they lay side beside, so there weren't any competitions anymore.

"Oh Dean," Charlie sighed, snuggling in next to him and enjoying the warmth of his body. She wouldn't think about him leaving. Not just yet.

Lying next to her, Dean and the strangest yet strongest urge to protect her. He felt like he was shielding her – from what he didn't know – that he had to be her rescuer, that Charlie was the girl he wanted to stand up for. Juvenile, he knew. Impossible, he knew even more. It's hard to be a superhero from a distance. But Dean wasn't thinking about leaving. He had learnt a long time ago that it was much easier to take every moment as it comes.

A soft knock on the door was like a stone in both pools of thought. Dean jerked his head up, whilst Charlie peeked at the door from under his arms. He looked down, sending her an exasperated look. Do not disturb signs were fairly self-explanatory. Charlie saw his annoyance and kissed him on the shoulder before resting her head against him, reminding him that some things aren't worth the anxiety.

Dean took a breath, resting his head back on the pillow. "Little busy right now. Come back later." He said.

"Dean?"

Dean raised himself onto his elbows, looking warily in the direction of the door. Charlie shifted so he could sit better upright, but still with a lingering hand on his stomach.

"Who is it?" He asked guardedly, though he had a good idea.

"It's Sam. I'm really sorry to disturb you…" His voice trailed off before he spoke again. "But we need to talk."

Charlie looked at Dean questioningly, but he shrugged. He has some awful sense that this relatively calm situation was teetering on the edge of a knife, and as soon as he opened the door it would slide right off. Thus, he was reluctant to leave the warm bed and temporary life security and let the impending situation in.

She saw his reluctance kissed him reassuringly on the cheek. At this moment, nothing could shake her. "You better let him in."

Dean nodded, grudgingly pulling away from her half embrace and tossing back the covers. Charlie fell back on the pillows for a moment as she watched him pull on his jeans, appreciating his fine form. It really didn't matter whether he was fully dressed, half dressed or no dressed – he was pretty much universally hot. Grinning to herself, she too slipped out of the bed, pulling on her clothes just as Dean opened the door. Sunshine spilled in through the threshold, and for a moment Dean had to shield his eyes. The light was wonderfully warm on his bare chest and the sky was absolutely clear. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Sam felt colour rise to his cheeks as a shirtless Dean opened the door, and felt even more embarrassed when he spied Charlie's back disappearing from view as she pulled on her own shirt. It was fairly obvious that the disruption was not appreciated, judging from the unamused look on his brother's face and his tousled hair.

"Sorry to interrupt," he stammered, looking at the floor.

"I hope this is especially important," Dean said, eying Sam and frowning.

"Morning, Sam," Ever courteous, Charlie came over to greet him, taking Dean's hand and leaning against him. "Everything alright?"

Sam looked up. "Yeah, ah…well…" He let out a nervous laugh, unsure of the boundaries in which he had to keep.

Dean seemed to read his mind. "It's alright," he prompted. "What's going on?"

Sam took a deep breath, knowing that the next two words were going to change everything. "It's Dad."

Dean froze, and Charlie felt the change in his body language. He had never really mentioned his father before, so Charlie wasn't sure if she should be happy, concerned or panicked. The seconds seem to stretch ten times their value before Dean moved, looking down with his head angled towards her but not meeting her eyes. Charlie didn't need any help interpreting that one.

"I'll make us some coffee," she said brightly, and turned away. But the words didn't seem to suit the atmosphere; instead they sunk back into her, planting little seeds of worry. For some reason she felt panic bite her insides, and her hands shook as she filled the jug.

'There is nothing to worry about,' she told her self sternly, noticing the tremor. 'Everything will be ok. Just stay in control.' She took a few deep breaths, feeling slightly better as she waited for the kettle to boil.

Sam watched as Charlie busied herself searching the draws for teaspoons. "How much does she know?" he whispered fiercely, sending Dean a sharp look.

"What do you mean 'it's Dad'? Is he hurt? Does he need help?" Dean replied, completely ignoring Sam's question.

"I don't know," he answered, eyes still on Charlie. "Seriously, how much did you tell her?"

"That doesn't matter!" Dean said vehemently in a low voice. "Tell me what's going on!"

Sam was taken aback by Dean's forcefulness, and looked at him seriously. "I don't know what's going on. He called my cell and said that he needed to see us both urgently. He hung up before I could find out anymore."

"Did he say where he was?"

Sam exhaled. "Iowa."

"Iowa?" The inflection in Dean's voice questioned the nature of the statement.

"Iowa." Sam confirmed, the tone in his own voice making it clear there was no mistake. "157 South Road."

The words fell like lead to the ground, unsettling Dean from his already uncertain composure. Iowa was a long way away. "How long?"

Sam looked away and bit his lip. "Two days," he said quietly.

There was a lengthy pause.

"Right," finally Dean managed to speak. He could feel Sam's eyes anxiously searching out his, but he ignored them; instead staring fixatedly at the straw mat at the doorstep.

He wished he could close the door, wished he could shut out the complications that seemed to permanently crowd him. He could feel her presence, and maybe if he was surrounded he could forget that the world existed. Maybe he could pretend that nothing existed except dust and air; that they had their own pocket of time that was secret and safe.

"What are we going to do?" Sam's voice seemed to echo, as if he was shouting from the end of a very long tunnel.

Dean's eyes travelled up to Sam's, and he blinked. "Ok," he said simply.

Sam didn't understand. "Ok?"

"Ok." Dean repeated. "We only have two days to get to Iowa. We have to leave now."

"But…" Sam faltered at Dean's stare. "What about Charlie?"

Dean looked down, his head at an angle. "It's dealt with," he glanced up again, hating the anguished look on his brother's face. "This is family. They come before anyone." Dean swallowed hard, the next words struggling to leave his throat. "Even her."

Sam felt some strange sense of gratitude, and he quickly swallowed the 'thank you' that had appeared on his tongue. "I'll wait outside," he offered, feeling terrible.

But Dean wasn't listening. He took a deep breath, letting out a quiet sigh. And then, hand pausing momentarily on the handle, he pulled the door shut and disappeared from sight.

* * *

_Charlie hummed to herself as she sauntered up the stairs to her room, pausing at her bed to retrieve her textbook from her bag and then plonking herself at her desk. Her good mood could not even be deterred by the prospect of a full night of cramming for the imminent maths exam. _

_Her mother stuck her head around the door. "You're in a good mood," she said, rather obviously. _

_Charlie smiled vaguely. "I suppose," she said. She hadn't exactly figured out how to tell her that she was currently dating the boy whom a few months prior had been her worst enemy. Her mother was the logical type, who didn't put much weight in the feelings side of things; thus, Charlie didn't think that she would really understand. And if the general reaction of the people at school was anything to go on, it didn't matter how brilliant her argument was – no one was really going to get it._

_The only person who really came close was Luke, and that was saying something. They had hardly spoken since the prom, over two weeks ago. It wasn't that Charlie didn't want to; it was just that she didn't know what to say, and that in itself was enough to make her upset. They had been best friends for years, and now she couldn't even find any words of comfort to ease the dejected look on his face. Charlie wanted to let him know that her being with Dean didn't change anything, but at the same time she wanted to give him his space and certainly didn't want to force her company upon him. So they were stuck in this weird sort of void, pretending that everything was alright, and talking without really speaking. _

_Little did Charlie know that Luke felt exactly the same way – not really knowing what to say and definitely not wanting to be an imposition on her time. People had been saying things, about how such public enemies could turn around and start dating – and these things usually resulted in nasty little stories and vicious rumours. No one could seem to comprehend how it could possibly happen, preferring to try and explain it away with gossip and conjecture. Luke knew better than to heed in it. Instead, he told all those rumour mongerers exactly where to get off, and that caused him his own fair share of trouble. He didn't think Charlie knew about it. At least, he hoped she didn't. Only last week he had requested very politely that a girl spreading some of the afore mentioned speculation keep her opinions to herself - resulting in Luke getting a 'friendly' slap from the girl's boyfriend after class. And just when he had wanted to creep away and wallow in his own self-pity, who should come lumbering around the corner but Dean Winchester, who pulled him unceremoniously to his feet and asked gruffly if he was alright. Luke couldn't escape fast enough, and prayed that Dean would have the good grace not to say anything to Charlie. If her pity had been hard enough to take, he didn't think he could stand her sympathy – even if the circumstances were honourable. But she hadn't said anything, and Luke was left with a strange mix of humiliation, longing, hurt and indignation. _

_Charlie's mother arched her eyebrows together, suspicious at her daughter's lack of elaboration. "Anything you want to tell me about?" _

_Charlie widened her eyes in a sort of puzzled innocence. "No. No, I don't think so." _

_Her mother regarded her with an eagle eye before relenting. "Ok." She disappeared back behind the doorframe, only to reappear a few seconds later. "Oh, and Luke called while you were out." _

_The tip of her pencil hesitated on the paper, and Charlie looked around interestedly. "Oh really?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. _

"_He asked if it would be alright to come over about eight." Her mother disappeared again, her voice moving in the direction of the laundry. _

_Charlie smiled. Luke always, always, always rang before coming over to check if it was ok. Glancing at her watch, she pulled the textbook closer towards her and tried to decipher the last topic. Maths was definitely not her speciality. She was so engrossed that she didn't even hear the phone ring, or hear someone answer it. _

"_Charlotte?" This time her father's voice broke her concentration. _

_Swallowing her irritation, she turned. "Yes?" _

"_There's someone on the phone for you." _

_Charlie tucked her pencil into her hair. "Is it Luke?" _

"_He didn't say who it was." _

_Frowning a little, she followed her dad down the stairs, picking up the phone and leaning against the doorframe. "Hello?" _

"_Charlie?" _

"_Dean?" Her voice rose in surprise. _

_Across the other side of town, Dean pressed his face against the cool glass of the phone booth; relieved to hear her voice and feeling it settle his jangling nerves. "Hi." _

"_Hi." _

"_Long time no see," he joked feebly. Only a few hours earlier, he had walked her home. It was almost hard to believe how much everything had been shaken up in such a small space of time. Almost. _

_Charlie wasn't fooled, hearing the anxious tone in his voice. "Everything alright?" _

_Dean closed his eyes, a wry smile on his face. There was nowhere to hide with her. "I need to see you." _

"_Dean…" her voice trailed off, and he heard her move around the corner where she couldn't be heard. "I told you, I have to study tonight." _

"_I know, but - "_

_Charlie sighed. She knew this would happen. And he was so darn persuasive against her weakening commitment to maths. "No buts, Dean. I have to. I know you don't understand - " _

"_Charlie." Through the glass Dean saw his father leave the convenience store and start towards him. "Look, I don't have long. But please, it is really important." _

"_Dean, I just don't think - "_

"_Please." He interrupted her, turning around so his father couldn't see his face. "Promise me you'll meet me at the tree outside my house." _

_There was something in his tone – the note of urgency – that made her clutch the phone closer to her ear. _

"_Charlie?" _

"_Ok." _

"_Promise me." _

"_I promise." _

"_The tree outside my house. Seven o'clock." _

"_The tree outside your house at seven o'clock. I promise." _

_Dean risked a glance in the direction of his father, and jumped in surprise to see his face peering in at him from just outside the glass. "I have to go. But I'll see you later." _

_And then all of the sudden his voice was gone, and Charlie was left with a beeping phone in her hand and a burden of worry in the pit of her stomach. _

* * *

_Seven o'clock came. Charlie waited under the big tree outside of Dean's house, rubbing her arms a little in the chilly air. She had skipped dinner – leaving the house almost as soon as Dean had hung up, and hoping that she would be back in time to see Luke. Whatever Dean wanted, she hoped that it was important and that it wasn't bad news. She was still a little worried about that. _

_As she waited a shaft of light fell across the street, and Charlie saw a figure emerge from one of the houses and come towards her. _

"_Charlie." _

_She saw relief spread across Dean's face as he greeted her under the tree, and before she had a chance to reply he had taken her in his arms and kissed her. Charlie softened at his touch, but there was something in his kiss that just wasn't right. _

"_Dean, what's going on? I've been worried." She said as she pulled away. _

_Dean avoided her eyes. "Will you just sit with me for a while?" _

_She felt a little pang at his gentleness, and took his hand. "Of course." _

_They sat holding hands with their backs against the tree for a good five minutes before Dean broke contact, rummaging in his pocket and pulling out an army knife. Charlie opened her mouth, but before she could speak he had ploughed the blade into the bark and carved out their initials. When he finished, Charlie took the knife out of his hands and laid it on the grass. _

_He still refused to meet her eyes until she pulled his chin down and they were face to face. "What is going on?" _

_Dean blinked and swallowed. He would give anything not to have to recognise this as a reality. "I'm leaving." _

_Charlie didn't understand. "What do you mean you're leaving? For a holiday?" _

_He wanted to look away, but they were too close. "No. We're moving. Tomorrow. Charlie, I'm not coming back." _

_She felt her breath catch in her throat. "But you can't." _

_Now Dean looked down. "I don't have a choice. I have to. God, I'm so sorry." _

_Charlie felt tears leaking down her face, and for a second she didn't know what to do. And when Dean folded her into his arms, he smelt so good and he felt so nice that she felt the ground spinning away from underneath her. _

"_Please don't cry. Please…" Dean broke off, kissing her amid her tears. "Please, I'm sorry…" _

_After a few minutes the shock was no longer new and Charlie's tears stopped. Instead she sat with her forehead resting against Dean's, in an odd sort of sad silence. _

_Finally she took a deep breath. "I wish you didn't have to go. I…" She paused, finding her control. "Dean Winchester, I love you." _

_Dean thought someone had turned the world upside down. No one had ever told him that in that way before. His heart seemed to thump very loudly, beating double time. He pulled away, running a hand under her jaw to stop her trembling lips, and to bring her eyes to his again. _

"_I love you too," he said, and though the words seemed to tumble awkwardly out of his mouth, she knew that he meant them. "But sometimes that isn't enough." _

_For a long moment they didn't say anything, and then Charlie nodded. She sniffed; pushed the hair out of her face, and leaned forward and kissed him. And then she got up, and walked away. And then Dean was alone. _

* * *

_Luke waited in Charlie's room, observing with a smile the open textbook and the scribbled out calculations. He had been doing the same thing a few hours before. He took a deep breath in, noting that her room smelt like her. That made him more nervous, though he wasn't sure why. All he had to do was tell her, and that was it. There was a sudden click as the door opened, and Charlie stepped into the room. She looked shaken, if not upset; and her eyes were the kind of clear they got when she had just been crying. _

"_Hi Luke," she said, barely controlling the tremble in her voice and genuinely very glad to see him. _

"_Charlie," he said, taken aback when she crossed the room and hugged him. He couldn't help but notice how well she seemed to mould to him. "Is everything all right?" _

_For a split second it crossed her mind to tell him about Dean, to let out the emotions that were beating against her temple and giving her a headache. All she needed right now was a shoulder to cry on, and Luke had always been that for her. _

"_Charlie?" Luke pulled away from her, with warm eyes and concern softening his features. _

_She looked up at him, and just knew that as soon as she mentioned Dean the closeness they had just re-established would go straight back to being distance again. Something in Luke's eyes shut whenever Charlie mentioned Dean, and she didn't want that. As much as she was not ok, she just knew she couldn't tell him. Not now, anyway. It must have taken courage to come over here and she didn't want to put him off or hurt him again. No, for the time being, her misery was her own. _

"_I'm fine," she lied, looking away so he wouldn't see the falsity. "Just tired and stressed you know." She tried a smile, and Luke seemed to buy it. "Sorry I'm late." _

"_That's ok," Luke smiled back at her, knowing that she wasn't telling the whole truth but not willing to push it. "Not long to go now, though. Hang in there." _

_Charlie smiled again, feeling tears threatening again. Her resolve wouldn't last long if he was going to keep up at being nice. She sniffed and swallowed hard, taking a seat on her bed and indicating for him to do the same. "Anyway. How's it all going? It's been a while since we talked." _

_Luke felt uncomfortable, but quickly put it aside. "Yeah, I guess. I've been good… busy. How about you?" _

_Charlie remembered how every afternoon since the prom Dean had walked her home, and how they had held hands and kissed at the front door when it was time to say goodbye. "Yeah, pretty good." _

_There was a silence, and Luke fiddled with her eiderdown. "I've got something to tell you," he said at last. _

_Charlie didn't say anything, but looked at him expectantly. _

_He took a breath. "I'm going away for six months." _

_She blinked. "Sorry?" _

"_I have some relatives in Europe who are going around the world – they need someone to baby sit their house while they're away. And I said I would do it." _

"_For six months?" _

"_Yeah. I think…it will be a great opportunity," he ended lamely. _

_Charlie took a deep breath and told herself to keep her composure. "When do you leave?" _

_Luke smiled a little. "The day after tomorrow." _

_She swallowed her shock, managing to turn it into a grin. "Wow, that sounds amazing." _

_He tweaked his glasses to look at her better. "Yeah, I'm really excited about it." _

"_Well…I don't know what to say," Charlie laughed to cover the sinking feeling in her stomach. "I'm going to miss you." _

_Luke smiled, properly this time. "Yeah, I'm going to miss you too." _

"_Have a great time." _

"_I will. I'll call you. Send some postcards." _

"_You better." _

"_Well," Luke stood, looking at the time on his watch. "I better let you go. I just wanted to tell you first, before you heard it off someone else. I guess I'll see you tomorrow." _

_Charlie stood as well, and they hugged before Luke made his way over to the door. "Thanks for coming over. It was nice to chat to you again." _

"_Yeah. Night Charlie." _

"_Night Luke." _

_Charlie sat on her bed for a long time, trying very hard not to think or feel. She knew that as soon as she did, the misery would just get the better of her. After a while she slowly got up and changed into her pyjamas, turning off her desk lamp and crawling into bed without giving a second thought to study. The covers were heavy, masking the sound of her tears as she sobbed until her throat was sore. She had never felt so alone. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Nothing what I own to do with Supernatural. I'm running low on disclaimer jokes, peeps!!**

**Chapter Eight**

_Six months later, Luke came home. His parents greeted him at the airport, commenting on how different – more relaxed – he looked. And Luke felt different too. Stronger. More capable. If he thought he felt grown up at seventeen and a half, he felt even more so at eighteen. They drove through town on their way home. Even the buildings looked different, the streets curved in a way he didn't remember. But it was ok. It wasn't sad. It was just different. And difference was ok._

_He didn't see Charlie till the next day. She was glad to see him, and they talked and laughed as if nothing had ever come between them. Charlie smiled a lot, and Luke found himself remembering why he had liked her so much. But there was something in her eyes – some sadness – that made him feel like he had abandoned her and returned too late to be the saviour. _

* * *

"Sam's not staying?" Charlie looked over at Dean questioningly, hand hovering over the third mug. 

"No." Dean swallowed. No matter which way he put this; it was going to come out wrong. "Charlie…" She took a moment to turn and face him, and he knew then that she already knew the truth. "Come here."

Charlie didn't move, just gripped onto the bench with white knuckles and looked at him defiantly. "If you've got something to say, say it," she said, more strongly than she intended.

He sighed. "Something's come up."

She crossed her arms. "You mean your Dad."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Look, if it wasn't important…"

Charlie refused to acknowledge his excuses. "When are you leaving?"

"Well, he's in Iowa and he leaves in two days - "

"I'm not asking about him, I'm asking about you. When are you leaving?"

There was a long pause.

"As soon as possible."

Charlie considered him with narrowed eyes for a long moment. And then without saying a word she crossed the room and kissed him. The tug of gravity was too great to resist and slowly Dean fell back onto the bed. For a moment or two he kissed her back before finally pulling away.

"Don't," he said steadily, looking at her in the eye. "Please don't do this to me."

Charlie drew away as if she had been stung, and quickly got up. "Don't do this to you?" She repeated, a dangerous quaver in her voice. "What do you think you do to me?"

"Charlie…" Dean pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Please. I don't want to argue."

"No, Dean," she said in a raised voice, her eyes glassy. "Sooner or later we have to talk."

Dean shook his head, feeling frustration rise in his chest. He didn't have time to do this with her, not now. He stood, retrieving his shirt from the chair and pulling it over his head.

Charlie bit her lip hard, anger letting words escape from her mouth. "This is fucked up Dean," she said; but he didn't respond, continuing to gather his things. He wouldn't be drawn into this.

She shook her head in disbelief at his audacity. "Don't ignore me," she said, in a higher voice than usual. "Relationships aren't meant to be like this. Normal relationships." Even with his back to her, Charlie saw Dean stop.

He took a deep breath and telling his anger to go away, he turned to face her. "Stop being so dramatic," he said; and despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep the biting tone out of his voice.

Charlie looked hurt, but not altogether that surprised. "I'm not being dramatic." She said, standing her ground. "You can't write me off like that."

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly, but before he could reply she was standing right in front of him, and had pulled his hands away from his face. "Listen to me." He felt his anger spike again, but there was something in her voice – in her eyes – that compelled him to do so.

"I'm not making his up," Charlie said, and he saw tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "Please. Please don't leave me again." Her voice was so low that Dean nearly missed it.

He looked away, staring out the window until the bright light made his eyes hurt. "This is my family, Charlie," he said at last. "And I will come back for you. But don't make me choose."

She let go of him, feeling injured. "That's what you always say," she said. "But when? A year? Two? Four?" Charlie crossed her arms, moving and sitting on the end of the bed. As he watched, a lean tear worked its way out of the corner of her eye, running dispiritedly along the creases. She brushed at it in irritation, and refused to meet his eyes.

Dean sighed again, cursing himself for feeling bad and then going to sit next to her, taking her hand.

"What am I meant to say?" she asked, still not looking at him. "What am I meant to tell Mum? Or Luke? I don't want to spend my life waiting and still be second best."

Dean held his breath a little, not wanting to react. "So what do you want me to do?"

Charlie held his hand tightly, finally meeting his eyes. "Stay."

He gave a small, sad sort of smile, reaching out and tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I can't."

She stared at the carpet again, a dull flush creeping onto her face as she let go of his hand. Dean took this as a sign of acceptance and he stood, kissing her on the top of her head and scooping his phone off the bedside table. When he turned back she was standing, looking at him with a mixture of fear, defiance and sadness.

"I won't wait for you anymore," Charlie said shakily, her hands clasped tightly together. She took a nervous breath. "If you leave now…this is it."

"You don't mean that," Dean said quietly, trying to convince himself as much as her.

For a moment there was silence. Then somewhere in the street below there was the sound of a car starting up, breaking the tension.

"I won't abandon you," he said. "I promise. We have to talk, but we can't do it now. I'll come back, really soon. I promise."

Charlie couldn't bear to look at him, not understanding how he thought this would all work out.

Dean misinterpreted her silence, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet and pulling out twenty dollars. "Take this. Put it towards the room. It's not much, but I'll fix you up later."

She looked up at him, eyes on fire. "Don't you dare," she said sharply.

He was confused. "Charlie - "

"I don't want your money," she said bitterly. "I'm not some kind of prostitute who you can keep stringing along."

Dean realised his mistake, and moved towards her. "Charlie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that…"

"Just leave me alone, Dean," Charlie went to step away, but he grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Charlie, I don't want to leave like this, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that…"

She struggled against his grip. "Let me go," she said, pushing him away.

"Charlie," Dean said in desperation, relinquishing his hold but staying close to her. "Please."

She stopped, crossing her arms and looking at him. "Dean - "

"I love you."

Charlie sighed, her bitterness suddenly gone and tears springing to her eyes. "Words aren't good enough anymore, Dean," she said softly, turning away. "I need someone who doesn't just come around every couple of years and expect that to be enough till next time."

Dean felt a flash of hot anger. "I can't be someone I'm not, Charlie," he said acidly, speaking to her back. "And I'm not always here. And I'm not always around to be there when you need me. And I'm sorry. But you knew we could never have a normal relationship. You knew that the very first time we said goodbye."

Charlie's shoulders sagged. "Dean, I don't - "

"No." He cut her short, anger still burning. "Let me speak. I'm sorry, and I love you, but this is who I am. This is what I do."

She ran a hand through her hair in agitation. "I know. I never - "

Again, he continued. "And I'm sorry if you feel like you have wasted your time with me - "

"Dean, I don't feel like that," she said earnestly, turning to face him. "You aren't a waste of time - "

" – When you could have been with somebody better."

"Dean." She crossed the room quickly and took both of his hands, tears now flowing freely down her face. "I never wanted somebody better. I wanted you." Her breath caught. "But I guess that sometimes that isn't enough."

There was a long silence as Charlie cried, holding onto him like she never wanted to let him go; and as Dean felt an odd sort of surprise and then such a strong sense of despair he thought he might be sick. Then suddenly Charlie let go, picked up his jacket and the money and thrust them at him, pushing him out the door.

"Go," she said, tears still pouring down her face. "Just go."

Dean looked at her. Looked at the woman that he had loved for so long. Looked at the girl that he met when he was sixteen. Looked at the beautiful, sexy, crying woman in front of him. And then he turned and strode down the corridor. He didn't look back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I rented out Supernatural from the video store. I didn't see my name in the credits. **

**Chapter Nine**

Sam sat in the car, hunched over the steering wheel as the car idled smoothly. Dean had been at least fifteen minutes now, leaving Sam to imagine things weren't going well. Glancing at his watch, he couldn't help but feel a little anxious. They really didn't have any time to waste, especially if they wanted to get of town before peak hour. Biting his lip, Sam revved the motor just the tiniest bit, hoping that the sound would subtly carry up to the room. Sure enough, a few minutes later Dean appeared at the lobby entrance, an unreadable look on his face.

"You ok?" Sam asked, as Dean opened the door and folded his figure into the car.

Dean didn't say anything, just gave his brother an exasperated look and stared fixedly out the window.

"Sorry," Sam said sheepishly, feeling foolish. Stupid question.

For a few miles they drove in silence as the still sleepy town slid by. Houses, fences and trees became a blur until suddenly they were on the outskirts of town and all there was was dilapidated apartment buildings and tired shopping malls. Sam felt something clench in his chest as the road slid away beneath them – the same feeling he always got when they were leaving town. The road ahead, the crisp prospect of a new adventure, a different challenge to be pondered. But this time it was different; though his heart pounded madly at the thought of finally being reunited with their Dad, Sam felt like he had left something behind. Something important. Risking a glance at Dean, it was fairly evident he felt the same way – except the lines of worry on his face were deeper and the shutters behind his eyes were shut. As if reading the nature of his thoughts, his brother spoke.

"Pull in here," Dean said suddenly as a faded motel came into view.

Sam squinted at him quizzically. "Why?"

Dean glared at his brother, not keen to reveal the sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Just do it."

Still Sam looked at him askance. "Dean, we don't have time - "

"I know." He said tersely, avoiding his brother's eyes and hating him for making this so impossibly difficult. "I won't be long."

"But Dad won't - "

"Dammit, I will deal with Dad! Just pull into the goddamn motel!" Dean snapped, his voice sharp with anger and resentment.

Sam was taken aback by his biting tone – even considering the circumstances – and despite himself, couldn't help but feeling a little hurt.

Dean sighed and shut his eyes in an attempt to remain patient, any feelings of remorse for his roughness overridden by an overwhelming sense of fear and frustration. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. "Please."

Sam looked at his brother hard, foot hesitating on the accelerator before he begrudgingly put on the indicator and pulled into the bumpy drive. They stopped sharply in front of reception, Sam yanking on the handbrake and switching off the engine, hoping for some sort of explanation. But, without so much as a thankyou or giving any indication of how long he was going to be, Dean got out of the car and grabbed a small bag from the trunk.

He could feel Sam's eyes burning into his back as he pushed open the reception door, but he refused to acknowledge him. The depths of hell itself could not make him admit to Sam why they were stopping. Dean was a pillar. He was holding this family together. And pillars can't be weak. They are strong and unmoving, unchanged by time or love or circumstance.

All he wanted was a shower. He could smell her on his skin, feel her against his chest, still taste her on his tongue. He had been with so many women, but she was the only one who did this. Who soaked herself into him, until he felt like she was flowing through his veins. She was a stain, an inky violet poison, sinking into his soul.

* * *

The sun had well and truly risen now, but the chilly wind still persisted; swirling around Charlie like a whirlpool as she sat mesmerised on the cold steps. As soon as she pushed that button, that was it. There was no going back. And she really did want to push it. She really did want to move on. But then, she reasoned with herself, after eight years of waiting, why couldn't she?

The main street stretched away to her left, a bustling strip of shops and cafés, aluminium glinting in the sun as many set out their morning tables. Through an open door, a snatch of a song floated in the air.

_And it hurts me to look into the mirror at myself:_

_And it hurts even more to have to be with somebody else..._

Charlie felt sick, grief and despair and anger rising in her throat as she stood and turned her back on the street, on the people passing by. 'It's not good enough anymore,' she reminded herself.

_They say that time will make all of this go away;_

It just simply wouldn't do.

_But it is time that has taken my tomorrows and turned them into yesterdays_

She wasn't going to take this. She wasn't going to stand here and let herself be browbeaten by the universe.

So she reached out. She found apartment 12. She pushed the button. And everything changed.

* * *

Luke had really only been dozing, but the clattering of the bell still came as somewhat of a surprise. Rolling over, he blinked blearily about before scrabbling around on his bedside table and pushing his glasses onto his face. The bell clanged again and Luke rolled his eyes a little as he shrugged off the covers and crossed the room. Impatience just wouldn't wait.

Flicking a button, he heard a familiar crackle as the intercom came to life. "Hello?"

"Luke, it's me."

"Charlie?" Luke couldn't keep of the surprise out of his voice.

"Sorry, I know it's early…"

"No, it's fine. I'll buzz you up."

A few seconds later he pulled open the door to find Charlie on the threshold, the same sad look in her eyes that she had when he had returned home so many years ago. It was like someone has extinguished her light and all that was left was a shadow, and it unsettled him.

She took a moment to register his appearance: his messy hair sticking up all over the place, glasses askew, standing shirtless in his boxer shorts, looking warm and comforting and safe and with that face of wonderful gentle concern. Looking like home. Looking like he cared. She took it in, so much that it was almost painful…and then she burst into tears.

"Oh Charlie," Luke enfolded her into his arms, pulling her into the room and wondering what on earth was going on.

She couldn't help it. Any self-restraint gone, she sobbed into his shoulder, fingers curling around his chest and clutching him closer. He was so safe and warm; but even his condolences and comforting words couldn't stem her frantic tears.

"Come on," Luke moved over to the bed, snuggling under the covers and propping himself up with his pillow, letting her burrow into him once again.

"Shshsh," he said comfortingly, stroking her hair and trying to soothe her. He didn't really know what to say, just knew that there was no way he was going to let her go. She was trembling, tears pouring down her face at such a rate that he could feel the wetness against his chest. And even as they seemed to subside, some recollection would spark and it would start all over again. Luke swallowed, feeling absolutely wretched and trying anxiously to think what could have possibly caused this. But the harder he thought the less he came up with, so finally he gave in; hugging her closer to him.

He didn't really know how long they lay together on the bed, but he did know that the sun moved higher and higher up the wall until eventually she stopped crying. Instead they just lay there, breathing somewhat in unison as Charlie felt her tears start to dry and cake on her face. Luke didn't move once, didn't say anything, just lay there with her as she cried, even though he must have been horribly cramped and burning with concerned curiosity. And she knew, then. She just knew that he would never hurt her like that. And he would never make her cry.


	10. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: Me ownsies no thing to do with Supernatural. **

**AN: Aaah! Sorry this took a long time to get up, Christmas and what not. But the second season of Supernatural starts in twenty-five minutes, so at least I'm kind of on time! Just a few thankyous too – to the reviewers who stuck with this, for Ben Harper's lyrics in the last chapter and for the song by Emiliana Torinni that inspired this story. You all rock. Hope you enjoy this last not-so little bit! **

**Epilogue **

It was so blue that it hurt your eyes to even look at it. Not a cloud to be seen, not a single blemish on the perfect canvas – just blue; blue as far as you could imagine. And it was freezing. The sky was cold. Open and vast, expansive to the point of nothingness. Empty. Sad. Alone. There was light, there was vivid colour, there was sunshine that sparkled as it reflected off the settled snow. But it was so cold, and everything was laced with a bitter frost. Like even the air itself was too icy to touch, the breeze that occasionally sprung up enough to bring tears to your eyes.

Snow was heaped on the side of the roads, cleared so vehicles might have a safe passage. Despite this, the street was deserted – save for a lone car crawling along the block, engine humming gently and cutting across the relatively serene silence. It looked a little out of place, an oddity in this perfect Christmas postcard. The tall fir trees with their long white jackets; the tidy houses cheerily puffing smoke out of their chimneys; foggy windows misty with the heat of the contentment inside; coloured lights hanging like elaborate earrings from rooves; the square, quaint gardens piled high with snow just right for playing. It was so picturesque you could almost hear the Christmas carols drifting through the air.

Sam's heart was beating very fast as the car slowly edged down the street. Everything seemed unfamiliar these days, and though he felt he should know instinctively where to go, he clung to the steering wheel like some sort of shield, eyes searching for house numbers. Usually the cheerful decorations would have evoked some kind of feeling – of happiness or longing or even sadness. Sam wished vaguely he could recall those kinds of feelings. These days time just seemed to slip away, minutes faded into hours and hours into days and days into weeks and then all of the sudden he hadn't really dealt with anything, just filled the gaping crevasse of yearning and despair with study and sleep and work.

Finally he saw the number he was looking for, pulling in at the curb a little way up the street. It was a nice house, two stories with a sensible colour scheme and a garage off to the right. Through the window Sam could see a Christmas tree, lights twinkling on and off despite the afternoon sun. As he watched a woman appeared, peering out the window into the garden. For a moment Sam thought he had been seen and impulsively sunk lower into his seat, but she simply squinted out at the ground and then up into the sky, before vanishing from sight.

Sam let out a sigh of relief, not entirely sure he had the right house after all. A few minutes later however, the women reappeared, and Sam knew there was no mistake. She looked different; older with a different haircut, and she had lost weight…but the creases around her eyes seemed to have lessened and she looked happy. Sam watched as she hurriedly put on a jacket, pulled on some boots and a scarf and jammed a beanie on her head. Again, for a moment he thought he had been spotted, and considered starting the car and roaring off. But before he had time to think about it, a young boy burst out of the house and threw himself headlong into the nearest drift. Sam saw the woman laugh, and pull another beanie and scarf from the rack before shutting the door firmly behind her. Calling to the child, she bundled him up tightly and they set about playing in the snow.

Stunned, Sam sat and watched the event unfold before him. He couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing, though in hindsight he should have reasoned that this was going to happen. Time didn't just freeze because you wanted it to, no matter how hard you wished. But he hadn't factored this into the equation: a mistake that always eventuated in either disappointment or surprise, Sam astonished by the latter. For a long while he simply stared, as the piles of snow gradually became recognisable as a snowman. Then finally and with an effort he tore his eyes away, almost glaring at the dash and remembering that he had come here for a purpose. Gritting his teeth, Sam swallowed hard and pushed open the car door.

The sound of it shutting didn't carry across to the woman and her child, or if it did, they didn't hear it. Sam's legs were jelly as he crossed the street, and it took all of his composure not to run back to the car, drive away and pretend this never happened. But, as he reminded himself, he had promised to do this – and he couldn't very well go back on it now. Not facing him, she didn't notice his presence till he was practically in the driveway. The boy was immersed as he patted the partial snowman smooth, ankle deep in snow and a look of upmost concentration on his face. He couldn't have been more than four, with ruddy cheeks from the cold and a bright blue knitted beanie. Finally sensing someone the woman turned, and the happiness on her face so pure Sam felt the stab of both resentment and sorrow so intensely that it hurt.

For a split second, neither of them spoke. Then –

"Charlie?"

The woman's mouth dropped and her face went white. "Sam?"

There was a pause and Sam didn't know what to say, then Charlie stepped forward and hugged him tightly. He almost recoiled at the contact, but it was so heartfelt that he couldn't resist; and after a while she pulled away and surveyed him at arms length.

"It's been too long," she said, a half smile on her face. Behind her the boy continued to play. "How are you?"

Sam didn't think he could stand the small talk. It was too normal and ordinary, such a bland precursor to what he had to say. It didn't fit. And he didn't want her to jump to conclusions, or think things that weren't true. He just had to say it. Sam considered her, not knowing where to look when you tell someone this. At the ground? Over their shoulder? In the face?

She looked at him uncertainly, so he took a deep breath and stood tall and looked at her in the eyes, like he knew Dean would have wanted him to.

"He's dead."

The words fluttered out of his mouth, and it seemed to Sam that suddenly the colour was sucked out of the world and the air along with it: and all that was left was a close, soundless, suffocating world of black and white. Charlie blinked, and for a horrible moment Sam thought she hadn't understood. But then a sad shadow passed over her face, and he knew there was no misinterpretation. She opened her mouth but nothing came out, so she closed it again. But Sam didn't miss the flash of relief that kindled briefly behind her eyes before quickly disappearing. He expected anger, at that. He wanted anger; he wanted emancipation from the vile rage that had been seething under his skin like an infection for so long. He wanted for wrath to take him, for fury to burn in his chest and for him to scream at her until his throat was bloody and raw. But she just stood there, looking at him sadly but without surprise; a living, breathing reminder of a love Sam never knew his brother was capable of. And instead of anger, instead of jealously and disbelief and betrayal, Sam felt tired. He looked around at this new colourless, lifeless world; where every moment that had passed and would pass was wrong; and he wasn't quite sure anymore if he had brought the bad news or received it. Then all of the sudden, for no other reason than that the woman in front of him let out a shaky breath, Sam felt air return so forcefully to his lungs that it hurt; and the weight of gravity and life and mystery and love was so great upon his shoulders that it brought him to his knees.

The snow was freezing, enough of a shock to make him jump. It left him with a nasty sensation in the pit of his stomach, gnawing through his sensibility and hope. He was too small for this. He didn't want to do anything; he didn't want to think – because it was too hard to do everything. Sleeping, breathing, eating…everything was a chore. He was alone, a pitiful sorry mess with wet jeans in the snow.

He felt someone take his hand, and Sam looked up to see Charlie kneeling before him. She didn't say a word, didn't try to comfort him with weak condolences or tired clichés. She just sat with him, and took his hands in hers, a silent expression that told him she understood. Sam looked away.

For a few moments they just sat together, the boy still playing quietly behind them. "Someone should know," Sam said finally, staring at the ground and too scared to look back up at her again. "When a good person dies, something should happen. Someone should stop and say: 'Hey. A good person died today.' Someone should know, you know? Everything shouldn't just go on."

Her grip on his hands tightened, enough for him to glance up at her. "I know," she whispered, not trusting her voice to be louder without breaking. "You know. I think that's enough."

Sam smiled sadly, not letting go of her hands. Charlie didn't smile back, but looked away for a long moment, and Sam saw her swallow hard. When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet he nearly missed it.

"How?"

Sam felt his insides seize, and the ill feeling in his stomach started to creep up his throat. He had tried very hard not to think about how it happened, but it seemed to have a way of always working into his present thoughts. Still, there was a difference between thinking and telling someone else. All he could remember was those sounds, that smell…so much so that it obscured most of the good memories.

He didn't realise that he had paused for so long until Charlie shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't - "

"It was an accident," he cut across her, not meeting her eyes. "A car accident."

Sam heard her intake breath sharply, and couldn't bring himself to look at her even then. There was another lengthy pause.

Suddenly she stood. "It was at night, wasn't it? Early in the morning. And you were with your father."

Sam's head snapped up, rising so he could see her, the question burning in his eyes. Charlie looked ashamed.

"I knew," she said. "Somehow I just knew. And you can say what you like, but I woke up one morning and something was different and I knew." Finally her voice broke and she hung her head.

This time Sam moved to touch her, but Charlie backed away. "No. Don't. Don't comfort me."

Sam looked at her warily, but she met him with steady eyes. "You've got to understand. I loved your brother more than anything, but I wasn't going to wait for him anymore. I'm sorry for you and I'll miss him, but I stopped mourning for him a long time ago."

He blinked, taken aback by a strength he didn't know she had. Before he could respond though, a little voice rose up from the ground.

"Mommy, can we finish the snowman now?"

Both Charlie and Sam glanced down, distracted. "Oh Jimmy," Charlie said, and Sam could hear the smile in her voice. "I'm sorry. You've been so patient." She looked at the child and then at Sam, as if weighing a decision in her mind. "Come here, I want you to meet someone."

She bent down and scooped the boy into her arms, swinging him onto her hip. For the first time Sam got to see him closely. He was a chubby little kid, though that might have been from the thick jumper he was swathed in. He had a healthy complexion, his cheeks red and his blonde hair flicking out from under his beanie like a bizarre long fringe. As Sam's eyes travelled over him, he noted that the child bore a striking resemblance to Charlie…except for his eyes. There was no mistaking those eyes. The arcane green flecked with the deep-set brown. He knew those eyes. He had seen them before. They were Dean's eyes.

His surprised realisation must have shown on his face, because when he looked up at Charlie for confirmation she was beaming, tears shining in her eyes. "This is your Uncle Sammy."

Sam felt like his heart had been pinned to the back of his chest. Jimmy smiled at him hesitantly, and for a second Sam swore he saw Dean looking out at him. The same crooked grin, the same crinkle in his eyes. Then Sam beamed, his heart suddenly beating so fast it almost hurt. This was unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.

Sam bent so he could be on the same level. "Hey Jimmy. It's nice to meet you."

James considered Sam with a critical eye before relenting. "Nice to meet you," he echoed, looking up at Charlie who nodded. James stuck out his hand.

Sam laughed, the sound resonating in his throat, clasping James' little hand in his own. Sam thought he had never felt so much love in one little hand, and the feeling was so overwhelming that he realised with a start there were tears on his face. "You look so much like your Mom," Sam said, barely controlling the quaver in his voice.

James grinned. "That's what everyone says." Sam smiled, but James' face fell. "Why are you crying?"

Sam chuckled, wiping at his tears and catching Charlie's eye. "They're happy tears. I'm just so happy to meet you."

The boy looked sceptical, putting his arms around Charlie's neck and pulling himself up to whisper something in her ear and then leaning back.

Charlie grinned, looking at Sam and then at Jimmy. "Of course you can give Uncle Sammy a hug. I think he would like that."

James smiled and outstretched his arms, grabbing onto Sam. At first Sam was surprised, but all of the sudden he got such a strong feeling that Dean was with him that he felt sobs swelling in his chest. He hugged James as he cried for his brother, for his father, for himself, for all this time that he had no hope. He opened his eyes and saw Charlie, her own tears gone, beaming at him in the afternoon sun.

"You see," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Dean has this uncanny knack of always staying with me."

Sam grinned as he took a deep breath, and as he looked back up at the sky, it seemed a little closer. It didn't look so big anymore.

"You're squishing me!" James finally said in protest, trying to squirm away but having no room.

"Oh," Sam relented immediately, and laughed in apology. "Sorry. It's been a long time…" He trailed off, handing James back to Charlie. He cuddled into her again.

"Can we finish making the snowman now? You promised it would be ready in time for Dad."

"Of course, honey," Charlie let him slide to the ground. "How about you find some sticks for his arms and legs while I talk to Uncle Sam."

Sam smiled as he watched James set about on his new expedition. Charlie tucked her hands into her pockets, watching him closely.

"I guess I better go," Sam said, turning to her.

She looked concerned, taking her eyes off James for a moment. "Stay, if you want. There's a spare bed upstairs. You can't be alone for Christmas. Stay for dinner with us."

He shook his head ruefully. "You're a remarkable woman, Charlie," he said, and she looked surprised. "You have the patience of a saint and the heart as big as this house, but I think my family has just about used up its credit for your sympathies."

This time Charlie shook her head, smiling kindly. "Not at all."

Sam touched her shoulder, looking earnest. "You've moved on. You're happy now. The Winchesters have caused you too much pain for too long." He smiled, for the first time able to think of his brother without it hurting. "Dean wouldn't want that."

Charlie looked at him searchingly and then nodded slowly, accepting his hug. "Say hello to him for me, won't you? If you see him around," she mumbled into his shoulder, and Sam laughed and nodded.

When they pulled away, his face was serious. "Thankyou."

She smiled genuinely and Sam let his hand trail down her arm, squeezing her hand before turning away and walking out of the driveway. She watched him cross the road with thoughtful eyes, and saw as he got into the car. Then she too turned away, closing her eyes and feeling the entire world in front of her, heart bursting with feeling. She took a deep breath, feeling Dean standing beside her – and looking out into the sky, she finally said goodbye. Then she opened her eyes and smiled, dropping to her knees and helping Jimmy roll another ball for the snowman's head.

Across the road, Sam just didn't want to leave. He couldn't explain it, however bad he was feeling before he had arrived – there was now a little bubble of hope that was rising in his chest. Dean was gone, but there was someone who remembered him. And that made the bitter hurt a little easier to swallow. In his rear-view mirror, Sam saw another car turn into the street, moving slowly down the road. After a few moments it turned into the same driveway and Sam saw a man get out. He was much the same age as Charlie, with longish dark hair and square-framed glasses.

She looked up at the sound of the car door shutting, and Sam saw her break into a wide smile. "Luke." She sounded relieved to see him, crossing the garden and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Luke looked surprised, but let out an easy laugh. "Hey, glad to see you too." He nuzzled her neck, making her laugh, before pulling back and kissing her.

Jimmy, who let out a cry of 'Daddy!' and launched himself across the yard, broke their embrace. Luke drew away, spreading his arms open wide and lifting the boy high up in the air. Luke smiled as James giggled, settling himself into his father's hip.

"So what have you been up to today?" Luke questioned, tickling James' face.

James squirmed away. "We made a snowman!"

"Would you look at that!" Luke wandered over, taking in his hastily rolled head and crooked arms and legs. "That is the best snowman I've ever seen in my life!"

James beamed with pride. "Hey Dad, can we make snow angels? Right now?"

"Snow angels?" Luke looked over at Charlie, who shrugged. "You bet we can."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

Charlie pulled a face. "You've got your best jeans on Luke, you should go and get changed."

"I suppose your right…" Luke winked at Jimmy as he put him down, then turned quickly and ran at Charlie, hoisting her over his shoulder and dumping her in a nearby pile of snow.

She emerged spluttering, looking mad but with laughter in her eyes. "You…"

"Oh, you love it," Luke replied, grinning and then falling down next to her, pulling Jimmy with him.

Sam couldn't help but smile as he watched the trio flail in the snow. After a few minutes Sam saw Charlie take Luke's hand – he looked over at her and she smiled. But he didn't return it; rather he rolled over and kissed her so gently and lovingly it made her weak at the knees. Sam felt a pang on Dean's behalf, but before he could recognise what it was, it was gone. He looked over at the family, capering happily in the snow, and then at the road ahead – then he reached down to the ignition, started the car, and drove away.

* * *

Christmas night. Sam lay sprawled across the bed in his hotel room, eating ice cream from the tub. Carols tinkered from the television as he watched a Christmas special, Santa smiling jovially at the young children who lined the streets in breathless anticipation. Today had been ok. A bit lonely, but he couldn't really complain. It could have been worse. He had been feeling better since he had seen Charlie, and it had crossed his mind to take her up on the offer of Christmas lunch. He had, in fact, even put on his jacket and stepped out of the door…but the street was so crowded with families that Sam felt like an outsider just standing there, let alone going for lunch. So he went back inside, ordered room service and sunk into a comfortable pouch of daytime television and wiled the afternoon away.

Now the sun was sinking slowly behind the horizon, the dusk of the most anticipated day of the year colouring the sky. Sam stretched half-heartedly, scattering the remnants of his lunch and early dinner over the bed and staring idly at the television. He might leave tomorrow. There was things that he had to do, things that he should have done but kept putting off. For the first time in a long time Sam felt able to deal with things more complex than work or study, and he realised that he had quite a bit of catching up to do.

A quiet knock on the door brought him out of his musings, and Sam rolled from the bed to answer it, a little puzzled. He pulled open the door, and contrary to finding the cleaning lady as he had expected, it was Charlie.

He couldn't keep the surprise off his face or out of his voice. "Oh. Hi."

Charlie blushed a little. "Hi."

There was a moment of awkward silence, Sam looking at her curiously. Charlie glanced down at her hands, which were fidgeting with a piece of paper folded exactly in half. Taking this in, Sam glanced at her face for some sort of explanation. She wouldn't look at him though, just looked torn…but then she seemed to settle, regaining her ability to speak and lifting her eyes.

"I know we said goodbye already," she said. "But when you left, I realised I should have given this to you. I think it's the only one I have, but…I want you to have it." Taking a deep breath, Charlie offered Sam the piece of paper. He took it hesitantly, turning it over in his hands and then unfolding it.

Smoothing out the crease, Sam realised it was a photo. Charlie stood in the centre, wearing a long dress and her hair swept back in an elegant wave. Dean stood next to her, one arm around her waist, looking very svelte in a handsome black tuxedo. They were both beaming, and a banner in the background proudly proclaimed: 'Prom Night'. Sam didn't think he'd ever seen a nicer photo of Dean. He looked back up to see Charlie watching him anxiously, trying to gauge his reaction.

"It's fantastic," he said earnestly, and she looked relieved.

"I know it's not much, but I think you need it more than I do. Dean gave that to me, just before he left when we were in our senior year."

A little frown creased Sam's face. "I don't want to take it off you…"

Charlie smiled. "I bequeath it to you."

Sam returned the smile, lowering his gaze to the photo once more. As his eyes flickered over the picture, he noticed a lone figure standing the very right, looking in the opposite direction. Though he was largely obscured, Sam knew it was the man he had seen the other day. Suddenly a question bubbled up in him and before he could stop it, it had escaped his mouth.

"Does he know?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Does who know what?"

Sam indicated the picture, too late to try and cover. "Does he know about Jimmy?"

Charlie stared for a moment at the photo, and then at Sam. "I never told him," she said, without shame. "But he knows. And he loves James every bit as much as I do… or that Dean would have," she finished, answering his unspoken question.

Sam felt a little ashamed. "I shouldn't have asked - "

"It's fine," Charlie said, the tone of her voice making it very clear that there was nothing more to the topic. Sam searched her face, but when she smiled it was without any tension. "Look, I better go. Luke's waiting in the car."

"Right," Sam nodded, folding the photo again and pushing it into his pocket. "Thanks. It means a lot to me."

Charlie reached and squeezed his hand, winking at him affably. "Keep in touch." And then she turned and was gone.

Sam stepped back inside the room, collapsing on the bed. Worming the photo out of his pocket he examined it in more detail, their infectious smiles spreading to his own face. A good ten minutes later Sam turned it over, looking for some kind of date or stamp. But there was nothing save for a line of cramped writing in one corner, something that he had missed before. Squashed into a tiny little square, Sam could make out – even from the tiny letters – that it was Dean's writing. He had had the practise of illegibility down to an art. Sam squinted his eyes, bringing the paper almost to his nose to read it. Finally, after much straining and with the assistance of a magnifying glass, Sam made out the words. The only remaining words of his fiercely loyal and spirited big brother, written to the only girl that he had ever really loved.

_Meet me on the sunny road._

* * *

Charlie was curled up on the couch, James asleep next to her. The heat from the fireplace soaked into her as she idly stroked his hair, her body in the room but her mind far away. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder. She didn't do it often. But sometimes…when she felt so suffocated in suburbia and complacency, she would shut her eyes and wonder what it would have been like if Dean had stayed. Wondered what it would have felt like, if he would have held her differently at night, if he would have been alright with a mortgage and a son and wife who was always going to be a little bit different. But then she thought of Luke, and the mere contemplation became betrayal. It wasn't fair when she had promised herself to him, and it made her feel ashamed. She loved him, but sometimes she was so sure that he deserved better that she just wanted to leave.

But he always had a way of knowing, he could sense her guilt and uncertainties; and when she was feeling bad, he would put his arms around her and tell her that he loved her, no matter what. And that would be enough until the next argument, or the next time her hand hesitated on the doorknob when she knew he would be there. But then like always, Luke would just hold her a little tighter, as if he could hug all her problems out of her. And that's why she loved him; because he was beautiful and gentle and he had so much love to give, and he chose to give it to her.

There was a soft creak, and Charlie craned her neck to see Luke padding into the room.

"The washing's on," he whispered, careful not to wake James and snuggling in behind her on the couch. "I'll put it in the dryer when we go to bed."

Charlie looked around at him gratefully, shifting slightly so he could be more comfortable. "Thank you."

Luke smiled benignly, letting his arms slide around her waist and then kissing her softly on the neck. It took her by surprise, and she felt butterflies tumble around in her at his touch. They had been married for nearly three years now, and she still wasn't used to him touching her like that. But it was nice and she liked it; that special little thrill that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Charlie smiled; relaxing against him so his chest supported her back and enjoying his added warmth. After a moment she arched up and kissed him behind his ear, like she knew he loved. Sure enough, she felt him shiver a little, and she leaned back into him once again and shut her eyes. She could feel his heart beating, his chest expanding against her; cocooned in his arms. He smelt nice, like washing powder and aftershave and the chicken they had had for dinner. She smiled again, feeling content but also a little concerned. She didn't think it was possible to really love two people. And she did love Luke. She hadn't just convinced herself to settle for second best, she knew that…but it worried her that a little voice popped up occasionally to wonder and wish. And she didn't want that doubt, not anymore.

She felt Luke move against her and she opened her eyes, craning her head upwards to see him. Luke looked down at her, feeling the way she leaned into him and knowing that he was just as infatuated with her now as when he was seventeen. She had this way of smiling at him; like one minute he had been married for three years, then when she looked at him with those wide eyes and he was the same jittery teenager who fell so hard for her. So when she smiled at him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes, he felt such a great spark of affection that it went right through him, a warm feeling burning like a furnace in his stomach and spreading through his body. And before he knew what he was doing, he had slid down so their faces were level; and brushing the hair away from her face, he kissed her.

Charlie was surprised by his directness, heart beating faster as his weight pushed her into the couch. His mouth was warm and he felt right against her, like he was meant to be there. Like things were complete. She had never had that feeling before, and it was so overwhelming it took her a minute to kiss him back. She pushed him away, untucking herself from under him and settling into his lap, so she could kiss him better. Luke let her take the upper hand, allowing her to fit herself against him and enjoying her hands against his chest. After a few minutes he felt James stir on the couch, and pulled away. Charlie looked over and saw he was awake, gently pulling him into the remaining space on Luke's lap.

James looked confused; but Luke patted his head and whispered softly to him, and soon he had cuddled up against Luke's side and fallen back to sleep. Charlie watched as Luke consoled him, fascinated by the concern and love and creased his face. He saw her watching and felt colour rise to his cheeks, but Charlie smoothed back his hair and rested her face against his, her arms around his neck keeping him close.

Luke tightened his hold on her, wanting to be as near to her as he possibly could. For a long time they didn't speak, Luke not quite able to comprehend how two people could possibly be so dear to him. He looked at Charlie, who seemed lost in the firelight, the look on her face the faraway kind that always seemed to precede a sort of sad look in her eyes. That disheartened him, sometimes. He didn't doubt that she loved him, but he knew that no matter how hard he tried; she just wouldn't love him as much as he loved her. And that look on her face…he didn't want her to feel bad about that. He understood, he really did. The thing was, he wanted to be with her so much that it didn't matter. All that stuff, it didn't mean anything.

"I love you," he said at last, and she looked around at him. "I love you," he said again, putting a hand behind her head and pulling her face to his. They were so close she could see every single one of his eyelashes, and the look on his face was so earnest it brought tears to her eyes. "And that's enough for me."

Charlie closed her eyes, and when she opened them she kissed him. She loved him, she was sure. And she wouldn't wonder anymore.


End file.
